


i'll give them shelter like you've done for me

by Danya324



Series: shelter [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Brothers, Daylighter Raphael Santiago, Daylighter Simon Lewis, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, I promise there's a happy ending, Luke/Jocelyn, M/M, Mix of Show and Book Canon, Mother-Son Relationship, Platonic Life Partners, Sizzy - Freeform, clace, jessa - Freeform, reference to real world events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 95,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danya324/pseuds/Danya324
Summary: UPDATE: The last chapter is out! Includes that happy ending I promised.UPDATE: Ch. 2 is out! Includes Malec (and other background relationships)---Here’s the thing about Magnus Bane.Magnus is the one person who’s been with him from the very beginning of Raphael’s discovery of the Downworld. Magnus is someone who has always stayed by his side and protected him and kept him safe and cared for him, even back when Raphael was awful to him.Magnus is goodness and kindness and what Raphael wants to think about when he thinks the word ‘father’.This is why Raphael is willing to follow Magnus anywhere. Whether it’s retirement in Hawaii and being space pirates in the far, far future, or something else grand and ridiculous entirely.So, when Magnus holds out his hand for him to take, Raphael takes it.Magnus has always, always led him out of the dark before. And he will lead him out of the dark again, as many times as Raphael needs.---Or, Raphael and Magnus, throughout the years
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Raphael Santiago, Guadalupe Santiago & Raphael Santiago, Magnus Bane & Guadalupe Santiago, Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis & Raphael Santiago
Series: shelter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859068
Comments: 33
Kudos: 79
Collections: Pls kill me





	1. i could never find the right way to tell you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a mix of book and show canon, plus my own major and minor alterations. However, you do not need to be familiar with both in order to read. (Seriously. I read Stucky fanfic even though I've only skimmed through at most two of the relevant movies. Read to enjoy, and figure things out as you go along. Have fun!) I promise you a happy ending.
> 
> Work and chapter titles from 'Shelter' by Porter Robinson & Madeon.

**_Beginnings_ **

It is June of 1953 and Raphael is dead and alone in a room full of ash and dust and blood. He is fifteen and scared, not that he’ll ever let anyone know that. Then again, everyone else in the room is dead—properly dead—so it doesn’t really matter in the end.

The man, monster ( _vampire_ , his brain oh-so-helpfully supplies) is burnt to ash by the sunlight streaming through the hole in the ceiling. Raphael is responsible for that death, and also the deaths of his friends who lie scattered around him. He takes a breath then lets out a choked sob when he realizes he doesn’t even need to breathe anymore.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

Three months ago, children started going missing then turning up dead on the streets of Harlem. It was Raphael and his friends who figured out what was really happening and put together a plan to kill the vampire and save the neighborhood. Raphael has four younger brothers, and there is no way that he would ever let any harm befall them.

And so, he got together with some older boys from school their group. Raphael is fifteen and the youngest of their group, but the older boys all listen to him. So, one night, they all sneak out of their homes and raid the abandoned hotel, calling for the vampire who’s been killing children. The vampire makes himself known soon enough, looking rather amused at their arrival.

That’s when things go completely to hell.

Raphael is fifteen and confident. His mother is always saying that there is such a thing as too much confidence, that _You’re going to get yourself in big trouble one of these days,_ _mijo_. And what is that saying? Mother knows best.

Then, he is fifteen and alone and dead and damned and a monster, and his only salvation lies in the beam of light streaming through the ceiling.

Except, then he is not alone, for a man with golden eyes walks into the room and fixes Raphael with a look. The man has dark, tanned skin and pitch-black hair. He is dressed in an ensemble of colorful clothes and a ridiculous looking hat.

“Raphael Santiago?” the man says, and though Raphael can hear the question mark, he can also hear the _knowing_ in the man’s tone.

“Who are you?” Raphael asks.

The man’s name is Magnus Bane, Raphael learns, and he was sent by Raphael’s mother to find him. Save him.

But Raphael is beyond saving, and he does not want whatever salvation the man has to offer. He wants only the salvation that being cleansed under the sunlight can offer him, so he moves to do just that.

But the man stops him, pulls him back, holds him still as Raphael tries and fails to struggle towards the light. He tires minutes, hours later, and ends up following the man back to Brooklyn of all places. The man his mother sent to save him but ended up damning him instead.

After a heated exchange during which the man calmly restates everything Raphael’s mother said and Raphael angrily explains the futileness of this entire exercise, the man sighs and says, “What if she never has to know?”

The man holds out the golden cross pendant that Raphael’s mother gave him and Raphael snatches it away immediately, not letting go even as the cross burns his skin. The man explains a plan wherein Raphael will get to see his mother again and pretend to be not a vampire. And now that night has fallen and his head cleared a little, Raphael realizes he wants to see his mother more than he wants to burn under the sun, despite everything.

And if this plan works, then he can see his mother again without being forsaken, without being turned away as a monster, and everything will be _fine_.

So, he ends up saying ‘yes’ to the man’s plan and begins working on his deception.

\---

Raphael wants to hate Magnus Bane, so he does just that. So much of what has happened the past few days has happened regardless of his wants. He wanted to kill the vampire, not be killed and turned into a vampire himself. And yet. He wanted to save the neighborhood, not murder his friends. And yet. He wanted to free himself, not live out this damned existence. And yet.

So, when Raphael decides to hate Magnus Bane, he commits to the endeavor entirely. In his anger and frustration, hatred is easy, especially with Bane’s near-constant fussing.

“You need to feed,” Bane says gently, not for the first time.

“What I _need_ , is to be able to control the bloodlust,” Raphael snarls, also not for the first time, fangs out and veins starkly visible. He hasn’t fed in two days and is determined to make it to a week before he gives himself a break. “Do you think I will let myself anywhere near my younger brothers or mother if I can’t even control myself?”

The argument goes the same way each time, ending with Raphael storming off to the room Bane gave him and slamming the door, the blood that Bane left out staying untouched.

“You should take a break,” Bane suggests quietly as Raphael holds onto his mother’s cross for hours on end, letting it burn him, trying to build up a tolerance to it. Bane is the one who told him that it’s possible for vampires to hold onto religious objects and speak religious words. So, Raphael commits to the exercise, wearing the cross around his neck and clasped between his palms and muttering his prayers over and over again until he coughs up blood.

He glares at Bane’s suggestion. “Is the whole point of this not to convince my mother that I’m not—” _Damned_ , he thinks. _A monster. Broken. Better of properly dead._ “—a vampire?” he growls. “What will _taking a break_ do besides slow me down?”

Bane just gives him a long look and sighs, muttering to himself in a language that Raphael can’t even identify, let alone understand.

He keeps up with the suggestions with inhuman patience, though, just as Raphael keeps up his angry replies. As their first week together passes, this becomes a routine of sorts. Just like the prayers he says before he gets ready to go to sleep as the sun begins to rise. Just like how he waits until he is in the shower with the water running as loud as it can get before he lets himself cry, the shower spray washing away the blood that comes instead of tears, staining the water red.

\---

There are, apparently, many new things that Raphael needs to learn about this new world. His new world. Words like vampire, warlock, mundane, Downworlder, and Shadowhunter for instance. Information such as: the Accords a barely a century old and are in place to keep Shadowhunters from slaughtering Downworlders as a sport.

Or: the vampire who turned him, his sire, was named Louis Karnstein, and was very, very old.

Or: Bane is a warlock and is apparently centuries old, though he won’t say just how many and he can do magic tricks such as making rooms appear and disappear throughout his ridiculously large loft.

Or: warlocks are the result of a demon and mundane having a child together, and oh, by the way, Bane’s father is _literally_ a demon.

Raphael’s mother definitely did not know this piece of information, or he would not be sitting here right now across from Bane. Everything he learned as a child in church, from the Bible, from his mother and from the priests rattles around in his brain. He recalls Bible passages about evil and sin and the Devil. He thinks of his fangs and bloodlust and Bane’s unnaturally gold eyes that are accentuated by the kohl he usually wears and the way his magic curls blue around his fingers.

But he also thinks of how Bane just sighs or raises an eyebrow whenever Raphael tells him to ‘fuck off’ or something even cruder. The warlock, despite the power he claims to possess, has yet to use it against Raphael or even raise a hand against him as his father surely would’ve done by now if Raphael used language like that against the man.

\---

In addition to wearing ridiculous clothes and spending far too much time on his hair, Bane also has a girlfriend, Raphael learns. Her name is Etta and she is a human—mundane, whatever—about the same age as Raphael’s mother, and is apparently scared of Raphael.

There is some irony in this, he thinks, for just a couple weeks ago, he’d been worrying about monsters such as vampires, and he now is one himself and other people are afraid of him. It’s like somewhere between walking in and out of that hotel, he ceased being a fifteen-year-old boy and simply became this _thing_ that others hated and feared.

Of course, he doesn’t exactly do much to help with the Etta situation as he glares and snaps at her as much as he does Bane. His mother would be appalled by his behavior if she were here. But she _isn’t_ here, and she might still end up hating him even if he somehow manages to do everything right. So, he ignores his mother’s reprimands in his head and keeps up with the glares and hatred and anger.

(He will admit only to himself that he is terrified of letting go of the hatred and anger because that would leave him bare. If he lets go of the anger, then he has to deal with the despair at this thing he’s become, his fear of what will happen when he sees his family again, and the pain he feels every second of every day, especially when he cries himself to sleep most nights in a foreign place with a strange man who’s intentions he had yet to figure out at all.)

Etta returns his glares with averted gazes and fiddles with the sleeves of her dress, brushing a lock of pale brown hair behind her ear, looking everywhere in the room but at him. With his new advanced senses, he can hear the way her heart quickens in fear whenever she sees him. He supposes that he should feel guilty. But most days, it feels like Karnstein scooped out everything good in him and left him an uncaring and soulless shell that holds nothing but pain and anger. So, he settles for glaring until Bane waltzes in to take Etta out to do whatever it is that adults who are dating each other do.

Of course, Bane can never do this without first turning to Raphael and asking him, in that gentle tone of his, to “Please be careful while we’re out, and don’t push yourself too hard. There’s blood in the fridge if you need it. Be careful, okay?”

Raphael does not provide a reply to any of this, and just glares until they both leave. He then turns to Bane’s bookshelves and pick out books about the Shadow-world and Downworlders and tries to learn all he can about this new life that he’s supposed to live. Many different books by many different authors all speak to how dangerous warlocks are. Raphael can’t help but scoff at this. How dangerous can warlocks be, if all they do is fuss around like mother hens?

\--

Nearly two months into his stay with Bane, Raphael and the warlock start venturing out of the loft. They go to a small church in Queens with a graveyard behind it and Raphael proceeds to run across the yard as many times as he can as quickly as it can before the sacredness of the ground burns through his skin and leaves him lying on the ground coughing up mouthfuls of blood.

Bane, on the other hand, proceeds to panic and ask, “Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?” and use his magic to heal Raphael’s injuries. Raphael is in too much pain to protest this and instead just lies there as Bane’s magic wraps around him. It is surprisingly warm and gentle, soothing away his aches.

“Can warlocks even get heart attacks?” Raphael asks once he is able to sit up, hand reaching into the pocket of his pants to grip his mother’s cross. It burns his palm, a dull ache compared to what running across the graveyard felt like. She gave it to him a day before he snuck out, telling him that it will keep him safe. After all, the monster couldn’t touch the cross without burning. But now, Raphael is a monster, and when he touches the cross, he burns.

Bane gives him a withering look, all exasperation and the most frustrated Raphael has ever seen him. For a moment, he wonders if this is when Bane will finally hit him, physically or magically, and prove that every fear Raphael has about the warlock is, in fact, warranted.

But Bane just shakes his head and mutters to himself in that language Raphael doesn’t know. Raphael would counter by speaking in Spanish, except he already tried that a week ago, and Bane had simply responded to him with perfect fluency, just with a European accent.

“Technically, no,” Bane answers with some irritation, “but that is completely _beside the point_. What good is any of this going to do you if you end up killing yourself in the process?”

“That’s a perfectly acceptable outcome to me,” Raphael spits, because he’s full of anger and hatred, at himself, at Bane, at Karnstein. He wishes that Bane had just let him walk into the sunlight. But he also wishes that he were still alive, truly alive. He wishes that he could go back to running after his brothers down the street under the summer sun and helping his mother prepare dinner in the kitchen and listening to her hum songs from her childhood.

But all of that is a distant dream, never to be had again, ripped away by a creature from his worst nightmares that ended up doing the worst thing imaginable and making Raphael into a monster as well.

Bane is staring at him in the eyes now, something sad yet searching in his cat-like golden eyes. He does not seem shocked by Raphael’s proclamation, nor does he say anything in response. This close, Raphael can see that Bane has _glitter_ of all things in his hair. The two of them remain in silence on the ground, with only the rustling of leaves and the song of crickets in the air.

Eventually, Bane nods to himself, seeming to come to a conclusion of some sort and rises to his feet. Hesitantly, he offers Raphael and hand. Raphael just glares at it for a moment before pushing himself up, ignoring Bane entirely. Bane takes this in stride and waves a hand, a tall blue archway-like figure appearing in the air. Raphael tries his hardest to not stare and not look impressed.

“It’s a portal,” Bane says, suddenly sounding tired. Raphael distinctly remembers reading something about portals in some of Bane’s books. “I’m not in the mood to walk back to Brooklyn.”

They walk through, and Raphael finds himself standing in the living room of Bane’s loft. Convenient, that.

The next night, Bane sits him down, looking all serious and formal and announces, “Okay. We’re going to need to set some rules.”

“ _Rules?_ ” Raphael exclaims. “Seriously? Who do you think you are?”

Bane never gets around to answering that question, because at that exact moment, a green portal opens a few feet away from them and out steps a tall man. He has green skin and horns poking out of his dark hair. And honestly, Raphael shouldn’t be surprised anymore by this point but he still kind of is.

“Hullo,” the man announces rather cheerily in what Raphael thinks sounds like an English accent, shooting Bane a conspiratorial grin. “Miss me?” He then notices Raphael sitting there with his glare and glower, and the green man raises both his eyebrows. “Now, what’s going on here?”

Bane lets out what can only be identified as a long-suffering sigh. “Ragnor, I thought I asked you to call before dropping by,” he says, but there’s a warmth to it.

“You did, but who says I have to listen?” the green man, Ragnor, answers with a grin.

\---

Here’s the thing about Ragnor Fell: he’s just _easier_. Not in some objective, absolute way. But in the way that he hasn’t seen Raphael in an extremely vulnerable state, or the way that he hasn’t been asked by Raphael’s mother to _save him_ as if such a thing were even possible anymore. He hasn’t seen Raphael force himself to go days without blood or hold a cross and say prayers for hours on end or run across a graveyard until his skin bled and blistered and he coughed up blood.

The thing with Ragnor is that Raphael can pretend for a little bit that he’s a regular teenage boy again chatting with a school friend. Ragnor talks shit about Bane despite the two of them seeming to be close friends, though there’s a teasing and gentle undertone to everything Ragnor says. Bane just rolls his eyes good-naturedly and announces that he’s going out to enjoy the company of people that aren’t boring old farts.

“Have fun with your girlfriend!” Ragnor yells after him, flopping back on the vacated couch and spreading his arms wide.

Bane materializes an orb of water out of nowhere and flings it at Ragnor’s face before quickly slipping out the door. Ragnor just guffaws despite being soaked in water.

So, Raphael and Ragnor end up talking through the night. And it’s _good_ because Raphael can pretend for a little while that he’s normal and _fine_ , which is good because otherwise he’d be suffocated by all the anger and hatred.

The thing about Ragnor is that he doesn’t seem to have Bane’s uncanny ability to see into Raphael and he reacts like a normal person would when provoked by something a little cruel. He doesn’t have Bane’s completely irrational tendency to be nice and patient even when—especially when—it’s not deserved and all in all the simple truth of the matter is that Ragnor is someone whose behavior Raphael can understand.

Over the next few days, Ragnor tells him about teaching at the Shadowhunter Academy and Raphael learns a bit more about the world of Shadowhunters and the place that Downworlders have in that world. He talks a bit about his childhood in the Britain of many centuries ago (apparently of him and Bane, Ragnor is the older one by several centuries) and how despite everything regarding what warlocks _are_ , Ragnor’s family had accepted him and loved him all the same and for the first time in two months Raphael feels something approaching hope.

Somehow, they get onto the topic of Ragnor and Bane’s names and Ragnor says, “You think Magnus and I were born with these names? No, choosing a new name is a warlock thing.” Then, he launches into a speech about things you don’t ask a warlock unless they volunteer the information themselves.

Bane just puts up with his noisy houseguest with fond eye-rolls and verbal jabs to match Ragnor’s remarks. Raphael can see an old familiarity between them and it makes him miss his brothers, a sharp pain stabbing over his heart even though it has ceased beating.

But here’s the thing about Magnus Bane: Raphael doesn’t trust him or like him, and he still wants to hate him, but he knows that Bane will deal with his shit without being cruel or judgmental about it. And he might find Ragnor easier to talk to, but when it came down to the whole dealing with being a vampire and a soulless monster, he didn’t want Ragnor to know anything about that.

After nearly a week of spending the nights chatting with Ragnor, Raphael decides he’s neglected his training for too long. So, he goes out into the city with Bane, giving Ragnor vague, uninformative details of where they’re going and what they’re doing. When Ragnor raises an eyebrow and looks at Bane, the latter warlock simply shrugs, which Raphael is grateful for even if he absolutely refuses to acknowledge that.

Bane is quiet as they walk, eyes staring ahead but seemingly distracted. But as they near the church in Queens, the warlock slows to a stop.

“I believe we were having a conversation about rules,” Bane says quietly.

Raphael glowers at him. “And I believe we already finished that conversation.”

And to prove exactly just how done he is with that conversation, he makes use of his enhanced speed and runs across the graveyard before Bane can stop him. It hurts like hell, the burn of the sacred ground against his damned body, but _of course_ it hurts. But this is what he needs to do to see his mother again and see his brothers again. He needs to be able to control the monster inside of him, otherwise, he’ll end up hurting his family the same way he slaughtered his friends—

He collapses at the edge of the graveyard, once again coughing up blood, but he thinks he lasted longer this time than last. He _has to have_ lasted longer this time, otherwise _what is the fucking point_ of all of this?

When he tilts his head up a little, he sees Bane approach and kneel by his head. The warlock heals his wounds without a word, though his lips are thinned and pulled into a frown. After, Raphael pushes himself up and directs a quick glare a Bane before turning his attention back to the graveyard.

“Tell me,” Bane says, voice quiet but firm, stopping Raphael from running out to the graveyard again. “What is the point of this exercise?”

“Control. Endurance,” Raphael spits, and he’s not even sure who he’s angriest at anymore. “If I’m going to convince my mother that I’m not _this_ ,” he hisses, gesturing harshly at himself, his fangs, the scar left from the burn mark that the cross leaves whenever he wears it around his neck, “then I need to be in _control_.”

“Perhaps,” Bane concedes. “Although this seems more like an exercise in self-flagellation than anything else.”

Raphael barely manages to suppress a flinch. “Don’t speak to what you don’t know,” he snarls, voice low and so forceful that he can feel it become an _encanto_ as he verbalizes it. But the _encanto_ doesn’t work on other Downworlders, at least not one issued by a fledgling like Raphael towards a warlock as powerful as Bane seems to be.

Bane just meets his glare straight-on, doing that thing again where he seems to be seeing directing into Raphael, and he wonders if it’s a magic thing or something else entirely. Loathe as he is to admit it, Raphael looks away first, not wanting to know what Bane sees.

 _Something dark and wretched, perhaps_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully. _Something soulless and damned and broken_.

“There are ways to learn control that don’t involve putting yourself through pain.”

“Right,” Raphael remarks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Rather than trying to jump straight into everything, maybe if you try slowing down—”

“I don’t have the _time_ to _slow down_ ,” Raphael snaps and jumps to his feet.

He brushes past Bane, not giving the warlock any further acknowledgement, and stalks away. But even with the wounds healed, he’s too tired to use enhanced speed to get back and it’s rather pointless in the end considering they’re heading towards the same place.

\---

The next few times they head out, Raphael and Bane don’t exchange many words at all. Raphael continues his practice of running across the graveyard until he collapses, holding and wearing his mother’s cross, and saying prayers until his mouth is full of blood from trying to say ‘God’ or ‘ _Dios_ ’ too many times. Each time they walk over to and back from the graveyard, Raphael keeps an eye on passing mundanes, tamping down his desire to feed despite having gone several days without blood.

Bane does not bring up slowing down again, though he watches closely and Raphael resolutely ignores the worry that the warlock keeps expressing.

Bane only interferes once, when Raphael tries to step foot into the church. Apparently, that level of holiness is too much for his vampire body to handle, and he can feel the blood inside him turn against him, like it’s boiling. Blood fills his mouth almost immediately and he thinks his skin is either burning or weeping blood, but he can’t be sure because there’s just _too much pain_ —

A hand snakes around his arm, pulling him out of the church. Raphael falls backwards, landing roughly on his side. That only adds to the delirium of the pain. Vaguely, he can make out Bane hovering over him, magic at the ready.

He feels the moment that Bane’s magic reaches him, smoothing out the edges of the pain, slowly knitting wounds together. Raphael’s head clears a little, and he can see Bane’s worried expression hovering over him, but all he can think about is damnation and being forsaken by the Father and Hell and why he couldn’t just be properly dead like his friends and _how can monsters like this exist in the world?_

After a while, Raphael pushes himself up to his feet again, and thinks, dimly, that he’s been ending up on the ground quite often these few days. And then, because his mind is a fucking traitor, his thoughts drift to his father.

He shuts off the thoughts quickly, but not before the old, old anger and hatred resurfaces, consuming him and filling up the space the pain just vacated. He snaps his head around to glare at the church, and has half a mind to march right back in just for the sake of it, just so he could _burn_ , and not think, and forget, and—

“You know,” Bane interjects softly, cutting off that particular train of thought. “People are not so simple that you can just draw a clear-cut distinction between evil and good.”

“I am aware of that,” Raphael growls at him immediately, turning his glare on Bane because he really doesn’t appreciate how the warlock is speaking to him as if he’s a child.

But Bane just proceeds like Raphael didn’t say anything. “I’ve been around for some time. Not that long, compared to some people I know, but long enough. I’ve known vampires that I would call my friends and warlocks I would call my enemies. I’ve known Shadowhunters who, despite everything they’ve been raised to believe, have gone on to help Downworlders they’ve been taught to hate. But I’ve also known Downworlders who turned so quickly to cruelty just because it’s the easiest option.”

Raphael wraps his arms around himself and refuses to look at Bane. “Your point?” he grinds out.

“My point,” Bane goes on, gentle, “is that you are still very young. You don’t have to define your entire life based off of what happened these past couple months. You have time to make mistakes, and grow, and change, and do many things. A person doesn’t _become_ evil just because they’re a Downworlder, and a person doesn’t become good just because they’re a mundane or Shadowhunter.”

Raphael wants very much to protest the point, to jerk a finger at the church that just tried to burn him for entering, for surely that in and of itself is enough to show that he’s been damned and forsaken. But he can’t make himself move or form the words.

“As far as religion goes, it’s always been more difficult for vampires than any other Downworlders,” Bane goes on. And it must be a magic thing, Raphael reasons, because he can’t think of anything else that can explain how Bane just _knew_. “But ‘more difficult’ doesn’t mean impossible. It just means that it’ll take _time_.”

Time, which Raphael doesn’t have. Or, more specifically, refuses to allow himself the indulgence of it.

It’d be easier if he doesn’t want so badly for Bane to be right. But just because Bane said something in a certain way doesn’t make him right. Raphael still remembers how his mother huddled close with the other women at church, murmuring to each other about the monster that prowled the street, fearing for their children. And Raphael is that monster now, or something close enough to it.

The fact of the matter is that he is fifteen and _dead_. He’s reached the end of his line, and all he has left is an eternity of some damned half-existence. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to see his mother and brothers again. If he’s _very_ lucky, they won’t turn him away at the door. But beyond that, he doesn’t know what else there is. So, he turns his glare back to Bane and neither of them says anything more on the topic.

\---

Raphael lets his sixteenth birthday pass by quietly. Neither Ragnor nor Bane know, nor do they have any reason to suspect. Besides, it is not as if birthdays matter any more given everything. He spends the night chatting with Ragnor and playing some card game, though he’s half-convinced that Ragnor’s making the rules up as they go along.

Bane is out somewhere, presumably with Etta, and does not get back until late. By that point, Raphael is beyond certain that Ragnor has changed the game they’re playing at least twice, though the warlock insists that he hasn’t.

“Don’t play cards with Ragnor,” Bane says as he approaches them. “He _cheats_.”

“Magnus!” Ragnor declares, clapping his hands to his heart in mock-horror. “What a terribly outlandish thing to say!”

Bane just rolls his eyes and plucks the cards out of Ragnor’s hand. He gives them a long look, then glances at the cards on the table. “What game are you even playing?”

Not even Ragnor can come up with an actual answer to that question, so yeah, he _cheats_. They abandon the cards, then, and return back to conversing about random things, at which point, Bane smiles at both of them fondly for a moment before heading over to his office and the adjoining apothecary.

Ragnor leaves the next night, saying that he has to get back to the Academy and deal with bothersome students. “Nowhere near as bad as you were, mind,” he remarks to Bane, smiling smugly. The two warlocks make a show of fake-punching each other on their shoulders before ending up in an embrace. Ragnor and Raphael make promises to call and write each other, then the older warlock in gone through a circle of green.

\---

A week or so later, Raphael and Bane end up in a huge fight. That’s not quite right. What really happens is that one night, Raphael wakes up with anger, hatred, and fear brewing in his head. He thinks about dying and killing his friends, and he thinks about his brothers and he misses his mother so much that his dead heart aches.

As the anger boils up within him, he thinks about how he’s just like his father, letting his anger rule him and unleashing it on whoever happens to be near. For Raphael’s father, that meant his wife and sons. For Raphael, since Bane is the only other person in the loft, the warlock ends up bearing the brunt of Raphael’s anger.

In the end, he doesn’t really even remember what he says, just that he yells and says a lot of cruel and false things. Bane just stands there and listens, one eyebrow raised and seemingly unaffected by the vitriol Raphael spews at him. However, this only serves to anger Raphael further, and he feels from the loft, yelling back a few last hateful things, then dives into the city without really paying attention to where he’s going, too blinded by his own rage to think responsibly. So much for control, then, right?

This is his first big mistake.

Raphael does not know Brooklyn very well at all, has only walked through it a few times with Bane. In all honesty, he does not know the city in general that well either. His mother only moved him and his brothers here around three years ago, and they mostly stuck to Harlem and its surrounding neighborhoods.

And now he’s stuck at night wandering down some foreign back road. He does not know that way back, not that it would matter if he did. There’s no way he’d be welcome after that shit he pulled. But he also can’t go home, not yet. He still loses his control sometimes around mundanes when he hasn’t fed and Bane always has to pull him back from attacking anyone. His mother’s cross still slips his fingers sometimes when it burns him particularly badly and he still sometimes trips over the words of prayers that he knows by heart.

Bane’s loft is not an option. Home is not an option. Just as he’s starting to think, darkly, that he may as well just go fuck off and die finally, three werewolves find him.

They’re all older than him, though still considerably young. Early to mid-twenties, perhaps. They leer down at him and mark him as prey, a young and lost fledgling. Raphael refuses to let them know just how accurate that assessment is and provokes them right back, figuring he’ll have them eating out of his hand soon enough.

This is his second big mistake.

Because these wolves aren’t like the older boys at his school, who decided to do as he says once he told them off by letting them know what he managed to find out about them just by observing them and asking around.

The werewolves, on the other hand, are all sharing a look. Raphael takes advantage of this opportunity and runs. They notice what he’s doing soon enough, but his enhanced speed gives him an advantage. But he is unfamiliar with the streets and once they shift into their wolf-forms, they aren’t exactly slow, either.

In the end, because there are three of them and only one of him, and he’s a fledgling still learning control whereas they’ve been wolves for years, they manage to corner him into a dead-end alley. Raphael braces himself against the grimy brick wall, eyes darting between the three wolves, wondering just how infeasible it would be for him to take on all three of them. Two of them have shifted back to their human forms, while the other, a large brown wolf, eyes excited and teeth bared.

He never gets to finish figuring that consideration out, for the grey wolf lunges at him with open jaws. Raphael’s reflexes kick in, and combining his vampire speed and strength, he aims a punch right between the wolf’s hazel eyes. The wolf howls at the impact, and if Raphael’s father ever taught him anything even remotely useful, it would how to take a throw a punch. The impact of vampire strength sends the wolf skittering back to his friend and leaves Raphael’s knuckles bleeding.

 _Wait, friend?_ _Where’s the other one?_

Too late, he hears the growl of a wolf above him, and when he looks up, a black wolf leaps off the rooftop of one of the buildings bordering the alleyway. The wolf has its jaws wide open, sharp teeth gleaming under the moonlight.

But then there’s a sound like a brief clap of thunder and the black wolf goes flying, shifting back to his human form as he lands on the ground in a crouch. The brown wolf shifts back to, running up to his friend to make sure he’s alright. And then, Magnus Bane drops down from… _somewhere_ and stands between Raphael and the three werewolves, blue magic crackling like lightning around his hands.

There’s a brief moment when fury at the interruption crosses the expressions of all three wolves. But the second they see Bane, Raphael can only watch with surprise as their expressions shift into something like fear.

“Warlock Bane,” says the one werewolf whose animal form Raphael didn’t get to see. There’s a sound like reverence in the wolf’s voice, which Raphael can’t help but be confused by.

From what he’s read in Bane’s books and what the warlock has told him, Raphael knows that warlocks answer to a High Warlock, who can be in charge of varying geographic areas. There’s only one High Warlock for all five boroughs of New York. Aldous Nix lives in Manhattan, and if Bane’s tone when talking about him is anything to go by, there’s no affection whatsoever between the two warlocks.

“Would someone care to tell me what’s going on here?” Bane asks, and his voice is silky smooth and ice cold and sends shivers up Raphael’s spine, and he has never heard the warlock speak like that in the three months they’ve known each other.

The three wolves exchange nervous looks. “We were just messing around, Warlock Bane,” the brown one says, and his hair as a human is the same color as his pelt as a wolf. “We didn’t mean anyone any harm.”

“I see that,” Bane remarks sarcastically, though there is something vicious in his tone as well. “Well, perhaps you should quit your ‘messing around’, unless you want me to make a formal report with your Alpha.”

If the wolves were nervous before, they are downright terrified, now, the color draining from their pale faces. “That won’t be necessary, Warlock Bane,” the brown-haired one says. “We will do as you say. We, uh, we’ll be going now?”

Bane just gives a slow nod and the three werewolves scamper away, and even though they’re in their human forms, the phrase ‘with their tails between their legs’ seems proper.

“You alright?” Bane asks, turning to him, all that viciousness and coldness completely gone from his tone. Instead, he speaks with that familiar concerned and gentle tone. Raphael doesn’t know what to make of that given everything that’s happened.

And he doesn’t want to talk about the shitshow back at Bane’s loft that led them here in the first place, so he frowns and asks, “What’s up with them?”

“Oh, they’re just imbeciles,” Bane says lightly, waving a dismissive hand. “But I helped out their pack’s Alpha with an issue last year and now some of them are under the impression that I’m more powerful than the High Warlock.”

“Are you?”

“Depends on your definition of powerful, I suppose,” Bane says evasively.

“Right.”

“Look,” Bane says tiredly, and his tone shifts into complete seriousness, making Raphael tense. “I get that everything is about as far from ideal as things can get.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Raphael mutters to himself.

Bane ignores this. “But there is something good beyond all this terribleness. I know it probably feels like there isn’t, but there _is_ , I promise.”

Raphael tries to muster a glare, but finds he’s too tired for that. “When does the ‘something good’ kick in, then?” he asks sullenly, scuffing his shoes against the dirty ground.

“Well, you might not like this answer, but this is something that will take time,” Bane says softly. “Not that unrelenting stubbornness is completely bad or anything, but it doesn’t solve all problems. If you push yourself too hard too fast, you might end up unintentionally making everything worse. For this, you need to give yourself time. I think, maybe, you’re expecting too much of yourself too soon. Or maybe just in general. A terrible thing happened. Several terrible things happened, and whatever you’re feeling now, be it anger or grief or something else is completely fine. Give yourself time. To be angry, yes, but also to grieve. To do whatever else you need to do. To get better. You have to give yourself a chance to get better, because you deserve that.”

Raphael listens to all of this in silence. A part of him wishes that Bane would just get angry with him, because that’s easier. It’s a response Raphael knows how to react to, and one he can react to without feeling guilty about his words afterward. On the other hand, Bane’s patience and kindness in the face of Raphael’s angry and cruel remarks make no sense whatsoever.

He fixes Bane with a look. The warlock’s eyes glow gold. His expression is neutral and his posture remains relaxed.

“I…” Raphael starts, then stops, then scowls at himself for sounding so unsure.

Bane blinks at him a few times, then slowly extends a hand. “I can help you, Raphael,” he says. “But only if you let me.”

Raphael stares, wants to say something like how he doesn’t need help. But that’s hardly true. This is a strange, new world, and he doesn’t know anywhere enough to get by on his own. Bane’s hand rests between the two of them, an invitation, an offer. A way out of the dark, if Raphael is brave enough to trust Bane, strong enough to take it.

He is beginning to think that maybe this is just the way that Bane is. Kind, patient, and willing to help even those who don’t deserve it. They are very diametrically opposed, in that way. Raphael will do anything for his mother and brothers, but is incredibly hesitant to extend that consideration to anyone else.

Kindness, at least in Raphael’s experience, is too often conditional, too often fake. He remembers some of the people who helped his family when they first came to this country, how easily their nice words turned angry when Raphael’s mother didn’t have enough money to pay them. He remembers his father, left back in a country Raphael might never see again, and how quickly his strong hands turned cruel once he started drinking.

This makes Bane dangerous, he thinks. It’s easier to joke around with someone who isn’t trying to save you than it is to trust someone kind. If he can’t even trust his own father, how can he trust any other man?

But Bane didn’t have to come running after him after their fight. If he just turned his back and walked away, Raphael wouldn’t blame the warlock at all. And yet, here they are.

In the end, he tentatively takes Bane’s hand, let’s the magic wrap around and heal his knuckles. Bane gives him a small smile.

\---

Some nights, they don’t go to the church and graveyard in Queens and instead spend hours walking through the city. Bane shows him around Brooklyn and they occasionally take a stroll across the bridge and end up in Manhattan, though they stay away from Harlem, for now.

Raphael eyes the mundanes that walk by, clamping his mouth shut and trying to keep his fangs from extending. Much to his chagrin, Bane’s suggested method of starting slow and gradually increasing the time he goes between drinking blood works markedly better than Raphael’s previous attempts of complete starvation.

Since that night in the alley, they’ve been talking more and negotiating on how Raphael goes about training his control over his new abilities.

“If you’re going to insist on pulling rash and dangerous stunts, warn me ahead of time,” Bane insists. “You’re going to give me grey hairs.”

“I thought warlocks can’t get grey hairs?” Raphael shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

Bane gives him a very unimpressed look. “That is completely _beside the point_.”

Anyways, they wander through the city. One night in Manhattan, they come across a group of three vampires who Raphael vaguely remembers seeing back at the hotel. They’re laughing and passing a bottle of alcohol amongst themselves.

There’s a long, awkward moment when the vampires spot them. One of them, a tall man with snow-white skin and dirty blonde hair, sneers nastily at Bane and flashes his fangs. A female vampire with brown hair tied behind her head kicks him firmly in the shins and gives him a pointed look. The man rolls his eyes, takes a step back, then says something to Bane in a foreign language. Raphael can’t understand him, but his tone alone makes him want to punch him in the face or something. Bane, for his part, just raises an eyebrow and responds smoothly in the same language.

The man spits, hisses, then turns on his heel and stalks away. He stumbles as he does so, and takes a long drag from the alcohol bottle. The brown-haired woman follows after him while the third vampire remains. She has pitch-black hair and her lips are colored red. She wears a red dress, though it looks unlike any dress Raphael has ever seen before. It looks like it’s made of silk and has a short collar that is buttoned around her neck.

“You should know,” she says, carefully but not unkindly, “that she’s back.”

Bane winces. “Ah. Great.”

“She doesn’t know, I don’t think,” the vampire goes on, glancing briefly at Raphael, then shoots a look behind her shoulder. “And I doubt Tomas will actually remember to say anything.”

“Okay.”

She nods at him, then turns to Raphael. “I’m Lily.”

“Raphael,” he tells her.

Lily smiles at him, then turns to follow after her companions. “See you later!” she calls back.

“Who’s the ‘she’ that she was talking about?” Raphael asks Bane after they resume their walk.

Bane winces again. “Camille Belcourt. Leader of the Harlem clan. She and I…have a history. We dated for a bit in the late eighteen-hundreds. It didn’t end well.”

“Oh,” Raphael says. Then, trying for sympathetic, tacks on, “That sucks.”

“I guess,” Bane says, though he looks upset now, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Raphael thinks about it for a moment, then asks, “Speaking about dating, how’s Etta?”

“Oh, we broke up,” Bane says casually, as if it’s no big deal.

“ _What?_ ” Raphael exclaims, not expecting that answer at all. “ _When_?”

“Hm. About a week before Ragnor dropped by,” Bane says and Raphael just blinks at him. “It’s not that surprising. We’ve been drifting apart for a while. She wants things that I can’t give her. Marriage, children, a family, someone to grow old with. If anything, I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

“Oh.”

Bane turns to him and smiles a little. “It’s not a big deal. Come on, let’s go see the river.”

\---

“What do vampires usually do about their families after they’re turned?” he asks Bane one night.

The warlock is lounging on a plush chair by the balcony windows, reading a book in a language Raphael can’t identify. All he knows is that it’s a different language than the book he was reading yesterday. Bane sets the book down on the coffee table as Raphael takes a seat across from him, gold eyes turning serious.

“They usually don’t see them again,” Bane says quietly.

It’s more or less what Raphael expects, but he takes a few minutes to process it nonetheless. He runs the pad of his thumb against his mother’s cross. It burns, but considerably less than it did four months ago. “Should I do that, then?” he asks sullenly.

“You should do whatever you think is right,” Bane responds, which is nice of him, but ultimately unhelpful.

“No one ever tells their family the truth about what happened?”

“Not that I know of, but there very well could be people who do and I just don’t know about it.”

“What about warlocks?” Raphael asks. “I mean, the mundanes generally figure out that their child is a warlock, right?”

Bane nods slowly. “Right. Some warlocks are born with their marks. Others develop them later on, but still as a child. So, yeah, the parents figure it out. Or, they figure out that their child isn’t human, though they might not know of the term ‘warlock’.”

“How do they react to that?”

Bane is silent for a long moment. His tone is oddly clipped and practiced when he answers, “Sometimes, they’re just very shocked but ultimately accept it and do their best to help their child.” 

“Ragnor says his parents found him a magic tutor and treated him just the same as his half-siblings.”

“This is true,” Bane confirms in an indecipherable tone.

“How did your parents react?” Raphael asks, despite that being one of the things Ragnor said one should not ask a warlock about.

But Bane just sighs. “It’s not a particularly nice story, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Raphael opens and closes his mouth, then, sagging against the back of the chair, he says, “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Bane nods, once. “My eyes changed when I turned seven,” he begins, turning to look out the window. “When my mother saw, she hung herself in our barn. My stepfather, in his grief, tried to kill me, but I used my newly discovered magic to kill him instead.”

Raphael swears in Spanish, then clamps his mouth shut, because that’s _definitely_ _not_ the right thing to say.

“I ended up in Madrid with the Silent Brothers for a few years after that,” Bane continues nonchalantly. “I left when I turned fifteen, and eventually, I met Ragnor in London and asked him to teach me magic. And, well, that’s that.”

“Oh,” Raphael says, and squeezes his hand around the cross.

Bane turns to look at him and his tone gentles. “But that’s just me. There are parents who accept and continue to love their children, as I said. It doesn’t always have to end poorly.”

Raphael thinks about seeing his mother again, coming up with some lie about how he isn’t a vampire, but something else not quite human, but still her son, still someone who can be loved. He imagines her buying the lie, welcoming him home, and then—

And then what? It’s not as if he can stay there, even if she believes whatever lies he tells her. He’ll have to come up with another lie, and he can see the rest of her mortal life ahead of him. A pile of lies, building up over the years, until he can no longer see the point of any of this anymore. And, besides, none of those lies will change the truth of what he is. Any acceptance and love he gets from her after this will be all because of a _lie_.

“I only met your mother once, and very briefly,” Bane says, pulling Raphael out of his thoughts. “But I can see that she loves you dearly and wants to see you again. But do you really think she’ll turn you away if you tell her the truth?”

“How could she not?” Raphael asks and opens his hand so he can stare at the cross. “What I am, vampires, are _unnatural_. Half-dead, half-alive. _Soulless_. Everything we’re supposed to _revile_.”

“How do you define being alive?” Bane asks. “I don’t think it’s about having a beating heart. You could have a perfectly functioning heart, but if you lock yourself away somewhere and never do anything or talk to anyone for the rest of eternity, are you really alive? I like to think it’s more about being able to interact with the world and the people in it.

“And how do you define having a soul?” Bane goes on. “It can’t just be if you’re human you have a soul and if you’re not, then you don’t. We’re not _that_ different, humans and nonhumans, not in the ways that matter at least. We all feel love and we all feel hatred. We all have things we believe in and people we are willing to do anything to protect. We have things that we’re afraid of and things that piss us off. We can get hurt, but we can heal from that hurt. We can change and we can grow and we can learn from our mistakes. To me, having a soul is much more about all _that_ rather than whether I have demon blood running through my veins or not.”

Raphael just gapes at him, unable to find words.

Tentatively, Bane reaches out with two fingers and gently taps Raphael’s hand. The touch is warm against his cold vampire skin, grounding. “The fact of the matter is that you’re still _here_ ,” Bane says. “You’re here fighting and working towards something, and you clearly still love your family dearly. In the ways that matter, love and beliefs and all that, you’re still the same fifteen-year-old boy you were before. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Raphael wants to say ‘no’, because Bane is offering him something heavy, something frightening. Raphael wants to say ‘no’, because it’s easier. Because if he says ‘no’, he can carry on as before, immerse himself fully in this darkness that he believes to be the rest of his eternal life. If he says ‘no’, then he doesn’t have to fight anymore, can just sit back and let himself be _damned_ and _soulless_. And he’s so _tired_ that that’s just _easier._

But Raphael wants to say ‘yes’, because Magnus is offering him salvation, true salvation. He is offering something _good_ , a light in the dark. He is offering a future, a real future, not just an eternity of hatred and darkness. And Raphael just needs to be willing to be brave and strong, to fight and to grow.

He feels like he’s on the precipice of something. There’s a choice before him, diverging paths of which he can choose only one.

He wants to say ‘no’ and he wants to say ‘yes’ but he can’t say either, so he just says, “Sixteen. I’m sixteen, now.”

And Magnus takes the change is topic for what it is and doesn’t push the issue, because that’s just _the way he is_ , apparently. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks cheerily. “We could’ve had a birthday party.”

Raphael chokes on a laugh and feels like he’s going to cry. He doesn’t, though, because blood-tears are irritating and a touch painful.

“Somehow,” he says, once he’s sure his voice won’t shake, “I feel that your idea of a party is full of things I hate.”

Magnus gasps in mock-offense and Raphael smirks at him.

Later, in the shower, he does let himself cry. The water cascades down and cleanses the blood away.

\---

On _Dia de Muertos_ , Raphael asks Magnus for some candles and matches. The warlock procures the items for him without question and even steps out of the loft for a few hours, leaving Raphael to his prayers.

Magnus gets back sometime after midnight. Raphael is kneeling by the window, staring absently at the dwindling flame of the candles and rubbing the chain of his mother’s cross. He’s moved on to his traditional nightly prayers.

“Would you like me to pray with you?” Magnus offers softly.

Raphael nods and the two of them recite Spanish prayers until the candles are nothing but wax puddles. Quietly, he asks Magnus where he learned the prayers from.

“When I was in Madrid, I lived near an orphanage run out of a Catholic church. There was a boy,” Magnus says, and smiles a little at that. “The Silent Brothers taught me how to speak Spanish, but he was the one who taught me to read and write by reading to me from the Bible.”

They spend a few hours in silence. Then, a while before the sun rises, Raphael takes a seat across from Magnus by the balcony windows.

“I can alter people’s memories with _encanto_ , right?” he asks.

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“And you can do the same with magic, right?”

The eyebrow remains raised. “Yes,” he says, drawing the word out this time.

“Theoretically,” Raphael begins, “if I told my mother the truth and that goes badly, could you make her forget about it?”

He struggles to keep his voice steady, to not sound small and scared. But he keeps imagining the worst-case scenario in his mind, and all he can see is his mother’s lips curling with disgust and slamming the door in his face.

“I can do that,” Magnus promises gently.

“Alright, then.” Raphael nods stiffly and rubs his fingers against the cross and _hopes and hopes and hopes_.

\---

A week before Raphael leaves, Magnus presents him with a jacket. It is leather and a dark, dark brown. The leather is smooth to the touch and the fabric inside is soft against his skin. It smells new, and though there’s no price tag, it looks very expensive.

“Consider it a belated birthday present,” Magnus says when Raphael finds himself unable to muster any words. “Or an early Christmas present.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Raphael finally manages to say. Because he really _didn’t_ , especially after how ungrateful and rude Raphael’s been these past six months.

Magnus smiles. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Raphael slips the jacket on, zips the zipper up, and tucks his hands into the pockets. It fits perfectly.

\---

They walk rather than portal over to Harlem, because Raphael needs the time to think. It snows on the way there, but a blue shell of Magnus’s magic surrounds them, deflecting the large flakes.

They talk a bit as they walk. Raphael mentions planning to join the Dumort clan and Magnus quickly makes a face before hiding it.

“Be careful of her,” he says, not specifying, but Raphael knows anyways.

They arrive on his street all too quickly, and he glances at the identical, tall and narrow brown houses. He pauses at the bottom of the steps to his home and wonders whether it’s too late to change his mind. Probably not, but what would be the point of that?

He walks up the steps, but can’t bring himself to knock. Something akin to panic is knotting itself up in his chest and he’s glad he doesn’t need to breathe anymore, because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to right now. Quietly, Magnus steps up next to him and knocks for him.

He can hear his mother’s footsteps through the door, and the echoes of his brother’s following steps.

Then, the door opens, and his mother is standing before him, dark eyes open with shock. Raphael stares right back, and finds himself unable to speak. The silence stretches and stretches and Magnus nudges him gently, giving him an encouraging smile.

And so, Raphael speaks and tells his mother the truth of what happened. She is silent as he does so. But in the end, when Raphael removes the golden cross from around his neck and offers it to her with an apology, her expression breaks into a sob and she steps forward and wraps him in a tight embrace.

“ _Te amo, mijo_ ,” she says, refusing to let go. “No matter what, Rapha. Understand?”

He nods against her shoulder, fighting back tears, and hugs her back.

\---

She ends up inviting both him and Magnus inside. Magnus looks surprised by the offer, but hesitantly trails after them.

Raphael’s brothers attack him with hugs the moment steps inside, and they were listening by the door, so they know exactly what’s going on.

In those six months, Miguel, three years younger than Raphael, has gotten taller. He realizes that one day, Miguel will be taller than him, since he’s stuck with his short and scrawny fifteen-year-old self forever. The twins, Antonio and Joaquin, are taller, too, though still short enough at eight for him to reach down and ruffle their hair. Mario is three now, and bigger and surer on his feet than the last time Raphael saw him.

They are delighted by his return and fascinated by Magnus. Miguel pesters him with questions that Magnus answers patiently. He’s vague about certain things, but remains gentle and kind about it. The seven of them gather in the small living room, many times smaller than Magnus’s loft, but it is _home_.

They talk and talk, and eventually, his mother and Magnus stand and walk into the hallway to have a conversation away from the kids. Raphael watches them leave with a small smile, figuring they’ll be back soon enough, and turns his attention back to his brothers.

\---

In the end, Magnus leaves without saying goodbye. Raphael only finds this out when his mother returns to the living room alone, smiling a little. He very resolutely refuses to feel hurt by this.

_**\---** _

_**After** _

Within the first few minutes of meeting Camille Belcourt, Raphael decides that she’s properly evil. She sneers and venom drips from her every word. She talks to the other vampires like she thinks she’s better than them—which, well, she _is_ clan leader, but this is something more than just that—and the other vampires either drip venom in the same way as her or look terrified of her.

For the life of him, Raphael cannot understand how Magnus ended up with someone like Belcourt.

No one but Lily seems to recognize him, not even the other two vampires who were with her that day. So, he lies to Belcourt about his age and how long he’s been a vampire. She gives him a bored look and tells him to make himself at home.

During his first week, he forces the clan to change up their defenses, thinking about how easy it was for him and friends to break in. They listen to him surprisingly enough as he sets up a day and night watch. Belcourt listens to his plans and out of the blue makes him her second in command.

He has to wonder just what it says about the way the clan is that he can become her second within a week. Some of the other vampires look upset by this decision. Others just don’t care. Lily offers him a warm smile and sits with him while he makes defense plans. He’s made a friend, he thinks.

\---

The thing is, even though he’s told his mother the truth, there are still so many things he can’t talk to her about. He goes home every weekend, usually after his mother and brothers eat dinner. They sit in the living room and talk. But she asks questions he doesn’t know how or doesn’t want to answer.

But Mama doesn’t ever push him to answer or kick him out. She presses her cross into his hands and tells him that it’s his, now. She remains steadfast in her acceptance and love and he wants to do _more_ for her, but he _can’t._ Instead, he just smiles at her and plays with his brothers and sits on the couch with his hands tucked into the jacket Magnus gave him and wonders if he’s a terrible son.

He thinks, sometimes, of going to see Magnus. But then he remembers Magnus leaving without saying goodbye and reminds himself that Magnus owes him absolutely nothing. Raphael is the one who owes Magnus a debt beyond anything he can ever repay, so if Magnus doesn’t want to see him, then he’ll just stay away.

(He is also just a bit angry and hurt, and refuses to see Magnus for those reasons as well.)

\---

After a month, he calls up Ragnor. The warlock is happy to hear from him, and the two of them meet up in the New York Shadow Market.

Raphael tells him that he’s with the Dumort clan now, and leaves out anything to do with his family. Ragnor pulls a face at the mention of Belcourt, but congratulates him on his position as second in command.

“Nice to hear that someone _decent_ is in charge of that place,” Ragnor says. There is derision in his tone, and Raphael thinks it is targeted towards Belcourt more than anything else.

They walk around the Market and Raphael listens as Ragnor complains about his irritating students. It becomes a routine, eventually, and they meet up a couple of times each month, just walking around and chatting.

One time, in early April, he and Ragnor run into a warlock with brown hair and her nose stuck in a book. Her name is Tessa Gray and she’s Ragnor’s friend.

“Maybe ‘friend’ is a bit of a stretch,” she says with a sly smile. “He was downright rude to me during the first five decades of our acquaintance.”

Ragnor huffs and rolls his eyes. “Because you were married to a Shadowhunter and co-running the London Institute. The Accords were very new. Relations were bad. Also, you were annoying.”

“And you’re a crotchety old bastard,” Tessa replies cheerily.

“You were married to a Shadowhunter?” Raphael asks.

Tessa nods and smiles, a touch sad, and launches into a brief story about coming to London and meeting two young Shadowhunters. _Parabatai_ who cared deeply for one another and how all three of them eventually came to love each other. She talks about finding out that she’s a warlock and a bit different than other warlocks (no mark, she can have children), though she does not elaborate on just why she’s different.

She talks about Magnus, too, and says, “Magnus saved my life when I was young. Taught me a lot about magic, too. We came to New York together from Paris, about twenty years ago, though I eventually left to go work at the Spiral Labyrinth.”

Raphael wonders if this something Magnus just makes a habit of, going around and saving young Downworlders. It would make sense, in a way. He’s probably just the latest in a long line of Downworlder children that Magnus has known, and probably saw no reason to stick around after fulfilling his promise to Raphael’s mother.

\---

He helps his mother with the dishes on the weekends and picks up some other chores around the house. It makes him feel almost normal, and he wishes he could stretch this time out longer. But at the same time, he is scared of staying too long, and wonders if it’s dangerous for him to stay so close to his family.

His mother and brothers don’t seem to share the same reservations. They always greet him with hugs and smiles, carrying on as if everything is normal. He works with Miguel on his homework because his mother insists that it’s still important for him to keep up with his schoolwork. Raphael doesn’t know how true this is, but doesn’t protest it either, even though he has no fondness for memorizing mathematic equations and history facts.

She still asks unobtrusive questions about the Downworld and Raphael remains evasive with his answers. Even though she never pushes too hard, he can see the worry building up in her eyes, and he wonders how long they can go before she becomes unsatisfied with what little he can offer her.

Throughout the months, there’s an unrelenting part of him that is terrified that his mother will change her mind one day and come to her senses and throw him out. But each night as he prepares to leave, she’ll stand with him by the front door. They are just about the same height, and he realizes he’ll never be taller than her.

She reaches out with her hands and cups his face. She presses a kiss to his forehead and says, “ _Te amo, mijo_.”

And he always leaves feeling more at peace than when he arrived.

\---

In June, a year after he died and turned, his evasiveness to his mother’s questions comes to a head, though not in any way he could’ve imagined. His mother calls Magnus, and the two of them meet for lunch or something like that. Raphael finds this out from her about a week after it happens.

“There are things I would like to know and feel like I _should_ know, as your mother,” Mama tells him gently as they sit in chairs on the small patch of grass behind the house. He sees concern in her eyes and can read it in her tone as well. “And Magnus seems to very knowledgeable about the, uh, Downworld.”

It’s a fair enough point and Raphael doesn’t really have the grounds to complain about it. So, he just nods at her and the two of them share a small smile. Around them, the summer breeze blows warm and fireflies and stars dot the night sky.

He tries to not think about his mother and Magnus having weekly meetings, which works relatively well since he’s busy with his new position at the Dumort and his mother doesn’t really talk about those meetings when he visits.

\--- 

These days, eternity is something that either weighs on his mind heavily, refusing to let up, or something he manages to block out of his thoughts entirely. But on his seventeenth birthday, it’s the former, and he lies awake in his room at the Dumort, staring at the boarded-up windows with black curtains drawn over them.

He thinks about how he’s practically an adult and yet virtually everyone at the Dumort is decades older than him. He thinks about all the years he has left before him, how he’ll eventually see his mother die, see his brothers die, until he’s the only one left. He thinks about the room on the top floor of the Dumort, the light streaming through the ceiling, and how much easier it would be if he just walked into the light. But dying is not an option anymore, if it ever was in the first place.

He thinks about the _something_ _good_ that Magnus promised him exists. He has his family, which is a miracle in and of itself, but somedays, everything just _hurts_.

\---

Something’s going on between his mother and Magnus, Raphael thinks. They’re still doing the weekly weekend meetings, but on one of Raphael’s nightly visits, Miguel tells him that Magnus came by the house last week.

“He walked Mama home from wherever it is that they go,” Miguel says. “They seem pretty friendly with each other. Then Magnus did some magic tricks for us. It was very cool.”

“Miguel,” Raphael begins, voice stern. “Tell me you didn’t pester him into performing magic for your entertainment.”

Miguel looks at him, blinking with fake-innocence and says, sweetly, “I didn’t pester him into performing magic for my entertainment. Actually, it was Tony and Mario who brought it up, though Joaq and I certainly didn’t discourage it.”

Raphael groans at him but his brother just laughs. Younger brothers can be very bothersome sometimes.

\---

Approximately a year to the day since he joined the clan, Belcourt sends him to Los Angeles on a job. The High Warlock there, Malcolm Fade, is requesting assistance, and sent word out to the New York Downworld. The details are scarce, and according to Belcourt, Raphael’s job is to figure out what’s going on and hopefully put the High Warlock into the clan’s debt.

There are stationary portals in every major city, created and anchored by warlocks but accessible to all Downworlders and Shadowhunters. He walks to the portal and steps out into the foreign streets of Los Angeles. It takes a while for him to find his way to Fade’s home, but he left New York early fully expecting this, so it’s still a bit before the designated meeting time when he arrives at a large mansion.

The mansion rests behind a black iron gate, a long cobblestone walkway leading up to it. There’s a fountain set before the tall double doors and statues made of white stone stand in front of the mansion. Tall pillars support the awning over the doors and the mansion looks like it’s made of the same white stone as the statues. Oil lanterns line the walkway and illuminate the front porch. Orbs of purple light float around like fireflies.

The door opens on its own as Raphael approaches. Inside, the floor is made of marble and a grand staircase stands before him. The purples orbs drift by him and start floating towards the stairs. They pause by the base, and Raphael realizes that he’s meant to follow them. The orbs lead him up the stairs and down a hallway with large paintings and small statues lining the walls. There’s a set of ornate wooden double doors at the end of the hall and they swing open once the orbs brush up against them.

Raphael finds himself in a study. To his right and left are bookshelves that cover the entire wall. The wall directly facing him has floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking a large garden behind the mansion. There’s a desk set before the windows and Malcolm Fade lounges on a chair behind the desk, swirling a glass of wine.

The warlock looks up as Raphael approaches the desk. He has a long, pale face, framed by black hair that barely covers his ears. His eyes are a vivid purple, just like the orbs, and he frowns upon seeing Raphael.

“Belcourt sent you?” Fade asks, taking a drag from his wine glass.

Raphael levels a glare at his tone. “Yes.”

“I was expecting Marcella,” Fade comments, sounding a touch frustrated.

Marcella is the third vampire who was there that day when Raphael and Magnus ran into Lily. From what Raphael can tell, Marcella is one of a handful of vampires who has been with Belcourt for well over a century. Belcourt keeps her close, but Marcella is always eyeing the clan leader with something like apprehension.

“You _asked_ for assistance from my clan,” Raphael says with a scowl. “You’re hardly in a place to complain.”

Fade scowls right back. “I suppose not. Who are you, then?”

“Raphael Santiago. Lady Camille’s second in command.”

The warlock nods tersely and waves a hand, two chairs appearing in front of Raphael. “You may as well sit. We’ll wait and see if the warlock I called upon will show up.”

Raphael takes a seat and the two of them sit in an uncomfortable silence, shooting glares at each other while Fade drinks then refills his glass of wine.

After a few minutes, the door opens, and Raphael turns around and can’t help but be surprised when Magnus walks in. Magnus blinks at him, surprise there and gone from his golden eyes within a matter of seconds. Then, his attention is on Fade and he’s frowning.

“What do you want, Malcolm?” Magnus asks. He approaches the desk but doesn’t sit.

“Would you like a drink?” Fade offers, holding up the wine bottle.

“I would _like_ ,” Magnus says, voice tight with irritation, planting two hands on the back of the other chair and leaning forward, “to know why you called _me_ here. Why not call, oh I don’t know, Nix? The High Warlock? Or are you so deep in the bottle that you’ve gone and forgotten about that?”

Fade gives Magnus a very pointed look and pours more wine into his glass, gaze unwavering. “I have no desire to deal with Nix.”

“And _I_ have no desire to deal with _you_ ,” Magnus spits, pushing himself away from the chair. He crosses his arms and glares straight at Fade.

“And yet, predictably, here you are. You haven’t changed one bit, have you, Magnus?”

Something about Fade’s tone bothers Raphael immensely, though he can’t quite put a finger on it.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Magnus practically growls.

Fade shrugs nonchalantly, and his eyes look a bit glazed over as he drains his glass of wine. “When someone calls, you go running, like a very loyal _dog_.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Fade smiles without humor. “How’s _Camille_?”

Magnus flinches, a movement that travels through his body, and that’s the moment Raphael decides that he’s going to murder Malcolm Fade, or at least make a very good effort of it.

But Magnus speaks before anything can come of Raphael’s murderous plots.

“How’s _Annabelle_?” Magnus asks, voice with just as much as venom as Fade’s.

Fade’s expression immediately turns to fury and loathing and he _lunges_ at Magnus. Raphael barely has time to process any of this before Magnus waves a hand and Fade goes flying back, slamming against the windows. The wine glass falls on the ground and Raphael hears it shatter. Blue sparks dance at Magnus’s fingertips, trailing all the way to where Fade is pinned against the glass, unable to move.

Raphael is struck with the sudden realization of Magnus’s power. He watches mutely as Fade fights and ultimately fails to get out of the grasps of Magnus’s magic. Magnus, on the other hand, is completely calm.

“Do it, I dare you,” Fade spits. Magnus doesn’t so much as blink. “But you won’t, will you? Pity, all that magic wasted on you.”

“Go to hell, Malcolm,” Magnus says, then lowers his hand, sending Fade plummeting to the ground.

Fade gets up and brushes his hands down his shirt. Then, as if nothing happened, he waltzes back to his desk and plops down in his chair. He waves a hand, putting the shards of the wine glass back together and refills it.

After taking a long, long drink, he turns a glare on Magnus. “Don’t talk to me about Annabelle.”

“Don’t talk to me about Camille,” Magnus shoots back.

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

“Shall we talk business?”

\---

The moment they’re outside the gate to Fade’s mansion, Raphael whirls on Magnus.

“Why the fuck are we helping him?” he demands.

“Because,” Magnus says, not looking at him but focused on walking forward, hands balled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his pants. “No matter how foul the relation between us has become, Malcolm is still a High Warlock, and the safety of the Downworld here is his responsibility. If he needs help with that, I can hardly just say ‘no’ on the grounds that he and I are no longer friends.”

“Yeah, and he’s too drunk to do anything himself,” Raphael grumbles.

Magnus sighs, head drooping. “It is what it is.”

“Who’s Annabelle?”

“Malcolm’s ex-girlfriend,” Magnus answers. “A Shadowhunter. She left him to become an Iron Sister several decades ago, and I don’t think he ever really got over it.”

“What now?” Raphael asks.

“Now, we deal with this whole mess,” Magnus says, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

Fade has them working a missing persons’ case. Vampires and warlocks have been going missing the past few months. But because the vampires are all rogues, belonging to no clan, none of the local clans have any interest in the disappearances. According to Fade, he’s already tried unsuccessfully to locate the missing Downworlders. Having met Fade, Raphael has a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t even try that hard. He has a few leads, and that’s all Raphael and Magnus have to go on.

“How are we going to do that?”

Magnus turns to him and one corner of his lips quirks up. “I have a few ideas,” he says. “But it’s getting a bit late. We can start tomorrow night. Or, well,” he pauses, taking a pocket watch out and consulting it, “technically, later tonight, I suppose, since it’s past midnight.”

And there’s a myriad of things that Raphael still wants to ask about, like what’s going on between his mother and Magnus, and why Magnus left without saying goodbye.

But he can’t properly verbalize any of this, so he just follows Magnus in silence.

\---

Magnus brings them to a house by the sea. It is large and made of bricks. The lawn in front is perfectly kept and the driveway free of dirt. Yet, when they walk in, the house is completely empty, not a single piece of furniture in sight.

“I bought it in the twenties,” Magnus explains. “But I never got around to doing anything with it, so now it just sits here.”

The kitchen is at the back of the house and there’s a large open area next to it, with sliding doors that lead out onto a wooden porch. At the end of the porch are stairs and at the bottom of the stairs is the beach. Beyond that, the ocean spreads endlessly, inky black and reflecting the light of the moon, waves crashing loudly against the shore.

“I’ve never seen the ocean before,” Raphael says softly, watching the waves. “We were pretty far away from it back in Zacatecas. When we made the journey up to New York, we never got close enough to the coast. And it’s still a little way away from where we are in Manhattan.”

Magnus hums. “I grew up by the ocean,” he offers, sounding far away. “In a small village that no longer exists, in a country that now goes by a different name. At least, I was there until I turned seven. I missed it when I got to Madrid.”

“Is that why you bought the house?” Raphael asks.

“Yeah,” Magnus laughs quietly. “That’s exactly why I bought the house. I was in LA visiting Malcolm to see if we could salvage our friendship. We fought, I got angry and stormed off. Then, I saw this neighborhood being built and acted on a whim.”

He turns away from the ocean and glances back at the house. After a moment, Raphael glances back with him.

“It could be beautiful,” Magnus says absently. Then, he gives his head a shake, gold eyes focusing. “There should be a mattress and curtains in one of the rooms upstairs,” he says, starting to make his way back up the stairs. “You should get some sleep.”

\---

The following night, they wander into downtown LA. Magnus’s plan involves taking what little information Fade offered them about where the majority of the disappearances happened and starting there.

Except he doesn’t do any magic, or look in places where people are likely to go missing. Instead, he seeks out people. All sorts of Downworlders hiding in the shadows, a handful of, if not friendly then at least civil, Shadowhunters, and even several mundanes with the Sight.

Magnus engages them in conversation, charms and chats, listens sympathetically to what they have to say before asking questions about the disappearances. Raphael watches all this from a few paces back, barely contributing anything to the conversations but is instead silently impressed by how easily Magnus slips into friendly conversation with everyone they come upon. And Raphael wonders if Fade knows this about Magnus, and whether this is why he called Magnus for help rather than anyone else.

“The people who call a city home are the people who know that city the best,” Magnus says to him as they walk back to the house by the ocean. “Talk to enough of them, and eventually you’ll learn some of the city’s secrets.”

After two more nights of this, they have a location.

They drop by Fade’s mansion to fill him in, and this only goes marginally better than last time. Fade is still drinking in excess—whiskey, this time—but he and Magnus don’t end up trying to kill each other. They glare and snap and make vague accusations that Raphael doesn’t have enough context to understand.

In the end, Fade scowls at them, offers them the most condescending statement of gratitude Raphael has ever heard, then promptly throws them out, saying that he’ll send some people to take care of the situation.

They end up standing in silence in the street outside Fade’s mansion, and Magnus starts to form a portal, blue magic gathering around his fingers. But Raphael stops him, grabbing at his wrist.

“So,” Raphael starts, letting go of Magnus’s wrist and trying to piece together his thoughts. “What’s going on with you and my mother?”

Magnus looks at him hesitantly. “We’ve been meeting up for coffee on Sundays. I tell her stuff about the Downworld. Sometimes we talk about other stuff. That’s all.”

“Right.”

“Does that…bother you?” Magnus asks, sounding very concerned.

Raphael shrugs. “Not really.”

“Okay.”

“Just—” he starts then stops, runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “You just _left_ , and I thought—You know what? Forget it, it’s not important.”

“Listen,” Magnus says, focusing his gaze somewhere to his right. “Listen. The thing with me is, I’m absolutely shit at certain things. I guess I’ve gotten good at sometimes pretending otherwise, but the truth is the truth, you know? And the truth is dark and ugly, but I’m working on it. I just need time, I guess. And, honestly, not to sound completely insensitive or anything, but I didn’t really think that you’d care.”

Raphael, who has been listening carefully while looking away, suddenly jerks his head around to stare at Magnus at this last part.

“ _What_?”

Magnus just shrugs and looks away.

“That’s stupid,” Raphael says, then winces, because that’s _definitely_ not the right thing to say. But he’s only good with words in certain situations, such as ordering around the vampires at the Dumort.

But Magnus only breathes out a soft laugh. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Raphael says, staring at his shoes. “Besides, it wasn’t like that.”

“Should we head home?” Magnus asks after a gentle silence.

Raphael nods, and follows Magnus through a portal.

\---

If asked, he won’t be able to say just exactly what compels him to do it. But that hardly matters, since it just _feels right_.

A week into the new year, Raphael makes a detour to Brooklyn on his way to visit his family. Magnus is surprised to see him. Even more surprised when Raphael tells him to put on a jacket and then proceeds to drag him out into the snow-covered streets and all the way to Harlem.

He has a brief moment of panic as they walk in, but in the end, everything turns out just fine. His brothers all seem to like Magnus, and not just for his magic. His mother and Magnus get along just fine and it seems like they’ve become good friends sometime when Raphael wasn’t looking.

He’d probably think that that’s strange, except he’s good friends with Ragnor and Tessa, both of whom seem to consider each other and Magnus as family.

And he’d probably think that Magnus sitting here in the living room with Raphael and his family is strange, except it’s _not_ , really, considering everything else that’s happened. Vampires and warlocks and magic and a whole world that’s been there the whole time, hidden in the shadows.

So, having Magnus here isn’t strange at all. If anything, it a new normal, and it feels _right_.

\---

_**Snapshots** _

Magnus reads to them, some nights.

Miguel has books that he has to read for school, and he’s always liked to read in general. So, he’ll bring books home, and Mario will want to know what’s going on in the book as well.

Somehow, this ends with the seven of them in the living room. Raphael and his mother sit on the couch. Mario and Miguel sit on either side of Magnus at the foot of the couch, and Tony and Joaq sit cross-legged across from them.

One night, they read _The Old Man and the Sea_ , and Magnus’s voice goes all soft as he reads the old man’s description of the sea. Mario falls in love with the story, because the old man is named Santiago and he finds this hilarious.

“I’m going to be a fisherman when I grow up,” Mario declares at the end of the story.

“That sounds wonderful,” his mother says, smiling and reaching down to run a hand through his hair.

Mario will be five this year, and in the past couple years, Raphael has heard his younger brother cycle through at least five different future career aspirations. Just two weeks ago, as the seven of them went out for a night stroll, they walked by a violinist performing on the street corner. Upon seeing this, Mario declared that he was going to be a musician.

Now, this is forgotten, and Mario is miming casting out a fishing pole

“We should go fishing,” Mario says. “It sounds fun!”

“If you like it so much, you should write my book report for me,” Miguel jokes, turning the book over in his hands.

A week later, Raphael comes home to find a big plastic bucket set just outside the sliding back door. Mario kneels over it, grinning widely, and when Raphael peers into it, he sees a fish swimming around in the water.

“We took Mario fishing,” Mama says, coming to stand behind him with a smile.

“And you actually caught something?”

“I did!” Mario exclaims, jumping to his feet and wrapping Raphael up in a hug. “It was so cool. Wasn’t it cool?”

“Very cool,” Magnus agrees and Raphael squints at him, wondering if magic has anything to do with the fish.

“What are we going to do with the fish?” Raphael asks.

Mario picks up the bucket and holds it up proudly. “He’s my pet!”

Their mother laughs and rolls her eyes fondly. “We’ll see, _mijo_.”

The fish stays with them for a few more days before they all go out one night and release it back into the water.

\---

Raphael turns eighteen on the last day of August in 1955 and his mother cups his face in her hands and kisses his forehead and tells him about the day he was born.

“You were so small, Rapha, with only a few wisps of hair on your little head,” she says with a smile. “You wouldn’t stop screaming until they put you in my arms.”

They flip through the family photo album. His mother points to the slightly blurry black-and-white photographs and tells him about when they were taken. He sees himself grow from a baby to a toddler, sees himself standing next to his mother, who has a hand on her belly. Then, there are pictures of baby Miguel, and even later, the twins.

She skirts around mentioning Raphael’s father, and it’s a practiced and familiar action by now. He could probably count on one hand the number of times they’ve talked about him since they left. It’s an arrangement that works perfectly well for them, his mother and Miguel and Antonio and Joaquin.

But he also knows that one day, Mario will have questions, because unlike the rest of them, Mario has no recollection of their father or his cruelty. He hasn’t shown any curiosity on that topic yet, so Raphael figures they still have some time before they have to deal with that.

The next night, he travels to London and meets up with Ragnor and Tessa, who show him around their city. He knows that Ragnor is from England, but is surprised to learn that Tessa calls the city ‘home’ as well.

“I was born in New York, but so much of my life happened here,” Tessa tells him. “I met the two loves of my life here and raised my children here.”

They walk along the Thames and Ragnor sings a series of English drinking songs, all sounding horribly off-key.

\---

Raphael still has bad days. Sometimes he wakes up to the memory of Karnstein’s fangs closing tight around his neck, remembers being underground and clawing his way out of the earth. Most of the time, he manages to force the memories out of his mind, focusing all his attention on his duties around the Dumort.

On a particularly bad night, when he can’t shake off the feeling of the earth closing around him despite being firmly above ground, he goes out into the city with some of his clanmates. They end up in a bar run by vampires, and Raphael drinks plasma for the first time in his life.

“It’s like a special alcohol that only vampires can have,” Lily tells him as they drink. “Not everyone likes it, though.”

Raphael very resolutely _doesn’t_ like it, but downs several glasses of it anyways, because the others are watching and judging, and because the more he drinks, the more his memories dull for a little while.

But after they leave the bar, Raphael parts ways with the rest of them, taking a walk through the city. It’s winter again, but he still remembers the overbearing heat of summer two years ago. He remembers _dying_ and _killing_ , and he remembers ash and blood. Blood in his mouth, blood coating his body like a second skin. He thinks of how sunlight burns and running across graveyards. He traces his collarbone, and though the cross doesn’t hurt him anymore, he’ll always have that scar.

His mind and body feel like they’re in two completely different places, and he’s hardly aware of where he’s going and what he’s doing. The plasma rages in his blood and he knows he’s drunk, or something equivalent to that, which makes him think of his father.

He wanders into an empty church and kneels by the altar. He says a few prayers with his mother’s cross clasped in his hands and manages to make it five minutes before the holiness of the church is too much for his body to take. It doesn’t leave him with any visible injuries, but he can feel the pain burning up within him.

Somehow, he ends up in Brooklyn, driven by some unconscious decision. The streets are familiar and he walks through them absently.

Magnus is surprised to see him, though the surprise shifts instantly to concern, and Raphael can only wonder at how terrible he looks.

“Hey,” he says, lifting a hand in greeting, then promptly tips forward.

Magnus catches him, hands gentle. He lets Magnus guide him through the loft and put him to bed. Normally, he’d protest being treated like a child, but his mind is too fuzzy to piece coherent thoughts together. And there’s something comforting about all this. Magnus helps him out of his jacket—the one Magnus got for him two years ago—and drapes a blanket over Raphael, even though vampires have no need for such things.

“Sorry,” Raphael murmurs, blinking blearily up at Magnus. The world is going soft at the edges and he’s already half-asleep.

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus says softly. “Sleep, Rapha.”

\---

They start going to Coney Island once a month. Miguel and the twins ride the Cyclone more times than Raphael can keep track of. The three of them love it, and the twins make a point of beating out Miguel in the number of times in a row they can go on the roller coaster. Raphael goes up with them only once per visit, which he thinks is perfectly reasonable. Mario is too short to ride and is audibly upset about this.

“Can’t you do something with magic?” Mario asks Magnus.

“The rules are the rules. They’re there for your safety, so it’s very important that we follow them,” Magnus tells him sympathetically. Mario pouts, but Magnus lets him spend the rest of the night riding on his shoulders, and Mario seems to love this.

While the twins and Miguel compete with each other on roller coasters, Raphael, Mario, their mother, and Magnus ride the Wonder Wheel and try to win prizes at the games.

Since they’re in Brooklyn already, sometimes they spend the night in Magnus’s loft. He waves his hands around a few times, and new rooms appear, even though the loft doesn’t seem to get any bigger. Raphael is more or less used to magic and strange things by now, so he doesn’t even blink. His brothers spend all spend several minutes marveling, though.

Except for Mario, who seems to think this is all normal. Mario, who was three when all this began, who probably barely remembers anything from the Before, now that Raphael thinks about it. For Mario, a life with a vampire older brother and a warlock friend who babysits him often is probably the only life he knows.

\---

Miguel likes to read, more so than anyone Raphael knows except for Tessa. He’s always bringing home novels, collections of short stories, and poetry books. As he gets older, though, his interests start to encompass history books and newspapers.

“Magnus, you were alive when all this was happening, right?” Miguel asks as he reads from a textbook on the Revolutionary War.

“I was,” Magnus answers as he stands by the sink helping Raphael’s mother with the dishes. Even though he can get them cleaned and dried within seconds with just a snap of his fingers, his mother and Magnus seem to prefer doing the dishes by hand together, for some reason.

“I must admit, I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on, at the time,” Magnus goes on. “I believe Ragnor, Catarina, and I were travelling around the world together back then.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It was,” Magnus agrees, setting the last of the dishes on the rack to dry. He clasps hands with Raphael’s mother and the soapy water immediately vanishes from their skin. “The thing about history books and newspapers, though, is that you can get completely different stories on the same exact events.”

“Yeah?” Miguel asks, eyes lighting up with interest.

Magnus nods. “If you look at the newspaper headlines in England right after the war, for example, they described the end of the war as a great loss. Meanwhile, people here would call it a great victory. It’s all a matter of perspective and how the journalist chooses to tell the story.”

“Being a journalist sounds like a fun job,” Miguel says with a smile.

And there’s the beginning of that.

\---

Raphael is aware of the changes in the mundane world around him. He knows the battles that have been fought the past few years in big rooms by people wearing suits and he knows the significance of these battles, even if he’s not completely aware of the finer details.

And he knows that this is why Miguel is able to say one night, after dinner, “There’s this college in California I want to go to.”

His mother takes the brochure that Miguel hands her. She’s sitting on the couch in the living room and Miguel is standing in front of her. Raphael and his brothers stand off the side, watching the exchange, sharing surprised looks with one another. Magnus isn’t there that night, having some business to see to.

“Why California?” Mama asks.

“Well,” Miguel begins, fidgeting with his hands and shifting on his feet. “Richie, my friend from school, his dad’s a writer, you know? And he went to school in California and he says that the program they have there is one of the best. So.”

She flips through the brochure in silence, then sighs. “We’ll see, Miguel,” she says, giving him a smile. “We’ll see.”

\---

In the end, Miguel applies to and gets into the school in California.

“What do you think about me going to California?” he asks Raphael one night.

They’re at Coney Island for their monthly visit. The twins are still riding roller coasters and their mother and Magnus have taken Mario to ride the carousel.

“I think it’s great,” Raphael tells him. “It’s what you want, right?”

“Right,” Miguel answers, though he’s looking at him apprehensively for some reason. “Do, um, Downworlders go to college? Or is there some equivalent?”

“Well, Magnus has a friend who’s a nurse, like Mama. So, at least some Downworlders go to college. Although, I suppose it would be more difficult for vampires.”

“Hm.” Miguel is oddly silent, face pinched in concentration. “Rapha, are you happy?”

Raphael is shocked by the suddenness of the question. “ _What_?”

Miguel takes a breath. “I mean, I get to college, which is something I want and I’m happy about it. But you didn’t get to finish high school before all this happened. And then you were gone for half a year. And it’s been almost five years and I still don’t know everything—neither you nor Magnus seem particularly fond of talking about certain matters—but I know things were hard for you for a while. So, are you happy, now?”

Raphael thinks about wanting to die and how everything hurt at the beginning, and how there’re still days when everything hurts. But he also thinks about Magnus talking about _something good_ and Magnus asking _‘Doesn’t that count for anything?’_ He thinks about hanging out with Ragnor and Tessa in the Shadow Market and he thinks about Lily and how most of the clan isn’t actually that bad.

He thinks about how he still has his mother and brothers, despite the fact that most vampires have to leave their families behind. He thinks of his mother’s love and acceptance, and his brothers’ laughter and jokes. And he thinks of how they’ve gone from six people to seven these past few years, and how strangely natural that transition has been.

“You know,” Raphael says, tucking his hands into his leather jacket and rubbing his fingers against the cross. “Even if none of this happened, I still wouldn’t have gone to college. It’s something you want, but it’s never been something _I_ want. I probably would’ve just gotten a job after I graduated or something. I guess that’s sort of what I’ve done now, anyways. But, yeah, I am happy.”

The truth of the words surprises him a little, but he smiles at Miguel. His brother is nearly a whole head taller than him now, having hit that growth spurt that Raphael missed. Miguel grins back at him and he looks very much like a proper adult.

\---  
“Once upon a time,” Magnus begins, sitting cross-legged on the ground across from the couch, “a sad and lonely boy named Cahya who loved to draw met a cheerful and friendly girl named Angkasa, who wanted to travel the world.”

“Cahya sounds like a girl’s name,” Miguel says.

“It can be,” Magnus tells him. “But it can also be a boy’s name. It means ‘light’ and Angkasa means ‘sky’.”

“That’s pretty,” Mario giggles.

“I think so, too,” Magnus says. “Anyways, Cahya and Angkasa meet when they’re teenagers. Cahya’s family owns a fruit orchard and he’s in the marketplace selling plums when Angkasa walks by to buy one. They end up talking, then talking some more. Then, the next week, Cahya shows up at Angkasa’s home with a basket of plums and invites to go for a walk along the ocean. And every week after that, they do the same thing.”

“And then they fall in love?” Mario asks.

Magnus nods. “Exactly. When they’re older, they marry each other under the plum trees. Cahya is in charge of his family’s fruit orchard by then and the two of them manage the orchard and the stall in the marketplace together. You see, they’re saving up money so that they can one day leave their small seaside village and go to see the world. It was Angkasa’s dream at first, but over the years, it became something that they both longed for.”

Magnus pauses, suddenly, glancing to the side. He has a small smile on his face, though it’s a touch sad, and his eyes look very far away.

“Do they get to go see the world?” Mario asks.

Magnus blinks, eyes focusing, and he turns to Mario with a bright smile. “They do,” he assures, and Raphael doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Magnus’s voice sounds a touch forced, a bit too determined. “They board a ship together and travel all over the world. They see grand cities and hidden villages. They explore mysterious forests and look up at majestic mountains. Wherever they go, Cahya draws and sells his art and Angkasa sings in local taverns and concert halls. Throughout it all, their love for each other remains strong, unwavering.”

“And they live happily ever after?” Mario says, eyes hopeful.

“And they live happily ever after,” Magnus echoes.

He lets out a breath that sounds half-laugh, half-sob. Raphael catches a glimmer of grief on Magnus’s face, but it is gone as soon as he blinks.

\---

At the end of summer, Miguel leaves for California. Magnus makes a portal in their living room and he and Mama go with Miguel to get him settled in. Raphael stays behind with the rest of his brothers.

“Portals seem very convenient,” Tony comments.

“Yeah,” Joaq agrees. “Much less of a hassle.”

They share a look with each other, then with Raphael, and he knows that they’re thinking of their journey from Zacatecas to New York and how long that had taken. They were only five at the time and by now at thirteen they’ve spent more time here than there. Yet the memory of the journey seems to be something they still recall.

“Why _wouldn’t_ you use portals to travel?” Mario asks, all innocence and pure curiosity.

And Raphael remembers that Mario is a child born to this city, unlike the rest of them, and that Mario is a child who doesn’t remember a time before magic. He’s grown up watching blue spark off of Magnus’s fingertips and listening to Raphael and Magnus talk about past adventures.

And he has no idea how to feel about that, whether he should laugh or cry, be relieved or just conflicted.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you,” Raphael echoes.

\---

“I think Mama and Magnus should get married,” Mario announces one night after Miguel gets back for winter break.

Raphael chokes on air and Miguel fumbles the mug he is holding. The twins look over from the couch where they’re having one of their secret conversations. Needless to say, all four of them are shocked by the statement, though Mario is grinning cheerfully.

Mama and Magnus are, _thankfully_ , not in the house.

“What,” Raphael manages, recovering first.

“They should get married,” Mario repeats, still upbeat and oblivious to the looks of shock his brothers are giving him. “It only makes sense. They’ve been together five years.”

“They’re not together like _that_ ,” Raphael says. _At least I don’t_ think _they are,_ he adds in his own head. “They’re just friends.”

“What’s ‘that’ mean?”

Miguel sets the mug down firmly. “Romantically,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet and serious. “Dating. In love.”

Mario pouts. “But they _do_ love each other. Who cares whether it’s romantic or as friends?”

“Well, it has to be romantic to get married,” Tony puts in.

“But if they get married, then Magnus can be our Papa.”

The silence that follows lasts quite a while. In it, Raphael can hear the beating of his brothers’ hearts. Mario’s remains steady, but the others’ speed up just a little. They all stare at Mario, who is now looking confused by their reactions.

“We have a Papa,” Joaq says softly. “You never met him, but he exists.”

Miguel scoffs with derision. “Yeah, and he’s an absolute fucking piece of shit.”

“ _Language_ ,” Raphael hisses at Miguel with a scowl, because even though he agrees with him completely, Mario is too young to be exposed to words like that.

“But you guys don’t like him, right? And we all like Magnus and he and Mama seem very happy together. So, they should get married.”

Raphael remembers wondering about when Mario would start asking questions about their father. He already has some very carefully worded answers picked out for some anticipated questions, and he knows Mama has done the same.

This, however, he definitely did not see coming.

But his brothers are all looking at him now, and he’s the oldest, so this is his responsibility to deal with.

“Marriage doesn’t work like that,” he tells Mario softly. “Besides, we’re all happy with the way things are, right? So, let’s not change it. Also, Mario, please, _please_ don’t bring this up to Mama and Magnus, okay?”

Mario pouts at him and attempts to glare, but eventually, _thankfully_ , agrees.

\---

Miguel comes back the summer after his first year of college even taller, somehow, his shoulders broader and the beginnings of a beard on his face. Raphael feels short and scrawny standing next to him. Well, he _is_ , in fact, short and scrawny, but he is more aware of this when he’s next to Miguel.

Miguel comes back bearing souvenirs: keychains, silly hats, mugs, and magnets.

He also brings home a pair of rings. They are identical and have sunflowers carved of metal on them. He gives them to Mama and Magnus, who accept them with raised eyebrows. Then, they share an amused look with each other, a smile just for the two of them. Mario is smiling with something like glee.

Later, Raphael drags Miguel to their small backyard and firmly closes the sliding door.

“Tell me this isn’t about what Mario said in December,” Raphael demands.

Miguel looks at him very, very seriously. “This isn’t about what Mario said in December.”

Raphael scoffs disbelievingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It really isn’t,” Miguel insists. “I don’t think they should get married. Not because I think he’d be bad for her or anything, but because that just isn’t the kind of relationship they have. But I think they _do_ have something special, so.”

“But _rings_?”

“They’re cheap metal carved into the shape of a sunflower. They’re hardly wedding bands,” Miguel says dismissively, then squints at him. “Does it bother you? I mean, you are the one who brought him home.”

“That’s not the point,” Raphael says.

In all honesty, it _doesn’t_ bother him. Magnus has always been good to them and makes Mama happy. And he’s never even come close to pulling any of the shit their father pulled. Magnus has always protected him, and he looks after Mario when their mother can’t and he helps the twins with their homework, and Raphael is pretty sure that Magnus is the one paying for Miguel to go to college.

The problem is that, for Raphael, the word ‘father’ has been tainted by a man he hasn’t seen in nearly ten years. He can’t think ‘father’ or ‘Papa’ without remembering heavy fists and the stench of alcohol, a loud voice raised in anger and smaller voices calling out in fear.

He doesn’t want Magnus associated with any of that.

“They’re nice rings,” Raphael says.

He and Miguel turn to look through the glass sliding doors. They can see their mother and Magnus, who are now wearing the sunflower rings on their right ring fingers.

\---

The Accords were made in the eighteen-hundreds, and there’s a large meeting every fifteen years. Shadowhunters and Downworlders from all across the globe gather in some city and spend a night discussing the Accords, any complaints they have, and what changes they think should be made.

Raphael has had mostly less than pleasant encounters with Shadowhunters in his eight years as a vampire.

But older Downworlders will always look at him and say, “You’re young. You have _no idea_ what things were like before the Accords. How could you?”

Ragnor says, “They hunted us for sport and stole everything from us. Do you have any idea how many times Magnus and I only just barely escaped their attempts to kill us? Did you know that when I first got to the Shadowhunter Academy, the room they gave me had on the wall the mounted head of a dead warlock who had horns like mine?”

Tessa says, “The Accords were just coming into being around the time I was figuring out what I am. For my first century, the majority of the Shadowhunters I knew were all kind-hearted and good to Downworlders. It wasn’t until after I left London that I really became aware of just how bad things are.”

Lily says, “I was born after the Accords, like you. All I know is that as bad as things are now, they were way worse before. So, we’re lucky, I guess. We all have Magnus to thank for that.” Then, when Raphael stares at her with shock, “Oh, you didn’t know? Magnus was one of the original creators of the Accords.”

Magnus says, “It took _so long_ to get enough support to actually make people listen to even the idea of the Accords. That’s not too surprising. There’s centuries and centuries of resentment and anger and fear to contend with. Even Ragnor and Catarina were opposed to it, in the beginning. But people came around, eventually. And now, we’re still trying to do better. Sometimes, that’s all anyone can do.”

This year, the Accords meeting is taking place in London and Belcourt sends him as the representative for the clan. Typical.

In London, he catches up with Ragnor and Tessa, and meets Catarina Loss for the first time. She has blue skin and white hair pulled into a braid. She smiles at him politely and holds a hand out for him to shake, though there is a certain wariness to the look she gives him.

“You’re Camille Belcourt’s second in command?” she asks. There’s bitterness in her tone as she speaks Belcourt’s name, and Raphael thinks he knows where the wariness is coming from.

He still doesn’t know the story of what happened with Magnus and Belcourt in London. Ragnor and Tessa are both tightlipped about it and he doesn’t dare ask Magnus. Lily apparently wasn’t there in London, but some of the other clan members were, and sometimes they said things. Things that, though vague, gave away enough to make Raphael’s blood boil with rage.

“Among other things,” he answers, shaking her hand. They nod at each other, and Ragnor is watching all this happen while looking amused and making faces.

The meeting begins a while later, led by a select few Shadowhunters and Downworlders, including Magnus.

Magnus stands tall in the center of the grand hall with the other main representatives. He wears a navy-blue wool jacket. It swishes around his knees as he slowly paces the center, black boots clicking against a marble floor. His hair is done up, a few touches fancier than usual and his gold eyes are lined with gold. When he speaks, everyone in the room seems to be listening intently, hanging on to every word. Even those who don’t seem to like him very much still cross their arms and watch him with grudging respect.

The other main representatives speak as well, though they don’t command the attention of the room in quite the same way. The whole event is surprisingly civil. Raphael has heard from older Downworlders about past Accords meetings ending with weapons drawn and magic blazing, and about how at the end of the very first Accords meeting, the Shadowhunters smashed all the plates that Downworlders used.

But the worst that happens now is yelling and threats with no follow-through. When the main event is over, everyone gathers in small and large groups to chat, and despite all the history, there are Shadowhunters who seem to genuinely be friends with Downworlders, and Downworlders who look like they truly trust their Shadowhunter friends.

After, he and Magnus take a walk through the streets of London. Magnus is hunched in on himself, glancing around warily at their surroundings. He looks very haunted, and Raphael wonders just what, exactly, happened in London.

“The first ever Accords meeting happened here,” Magnus says quietly. “So much has changed between now and then.”

“That’s good, right?” Raphael says. “Because of the Accords, everyone’s safer. And there’re whole generations of Downworlders who don’t know what it was like before the Accords, though some of the older Downworlders I talked to seem to think this is a bad thing.”

“Well, history is important. If we forget that history, we might lose sight of what we’re fighting for,” Magnus says. “But it can also be a good thing, because it’s easier to believe in the possibility of _peace_ when you don’t have memories of hatred and destruction.”

 _Peace_ , Raphael thinks. He looks at the city around them and thinks of all the battles fought and won and lost all before he was even born. There’s a whole history that he’ll never truly know, never understand.

But there’s a whole future waiting before him as well.

“Peace sounds nice,” is what he eventually says to Magnus, smiling.

Magnus grins back and ruffles Raphael’s hair.

\---

Ten years after Raphael’s turning, Magnus takes their whole family to the Maldives. It’s good to get the whole family together since Miguel is now living permanently in California after graduating and Raphael and Magnus have had a very busy year so far dealing with Downworld matters. The twins will be starting at a local college in the fall, beginning their own independent adult lives.

At night, the seven of them walk along the beach, marveling at the Sea of Stars. The glowing blue waters and the bright specks scattered throughout look like they could be the work of magic. Yet, all it’s just science, some chemical combination making the ocean look like a sky full of stars, giving it its name.

Mario skips ahead of them, barefoot and kicking up water and sand. He laughs as his feet pass through the glowing water and tries cupping it in his hands. At thirteen, he still hasn’t quite lost his boyish innocence. He’s always been cheerful and upbeat in a way that Raphael and his other brothers aren’t.

On the bad days, Raphael wonders whether this is because their father ruined him, Miguel, Tony, and Joaq. And Mario, free of their father’s cruelty, knows only joy and love, and has never had to learn what it feels like to be hurt by someone who’s supposed to love and protect you.

Mama and Magnus walk closely behind Mario. They’re holding hands, something that has long since become normal, and they still wear the sunflower rings on their right hands. His mother’s hair is tied up in a bun, loose strands blowing free with the breeze. With his enhanced sight, Raphael can see strands of white in her hair and the beginnings of wrinkles on her skin as her face breaks into a grin at something Magnus says. She is not _old_ , but she is getting _older_ , and Raphael is suddenly caught in a paradoxical moment where it feels like everything is changing yet nothing is changing at all.

He remembers a conversation he had with Ragnor a few years ago. Ragnor was telling him about his family, how he had to watch them grow old and die while he stayed young.

“That’s just the thing,” Ragnor said, taking a sip from his tea. “If they love you, then eventually you’ll have to deal grieve their deaths. If they hate you, then you have to deal with that fact for the rest of your life. Either way, something’s going to be terrible. It’s just a matter of which one is less terrible.”

It’s pretty cynical, but Raphael thinks that Ragnor has a fair point.

Later, after everyone else has gone to sleep in the hotel by the sea, Raphael wanders back out onto the beach. Magnus if out there, standing a few feet into the water, letting the waves crash against his shins. Raphael kicks off his shoes and rolls up pants, then joins Magnus. At his height, the water touches the bottom of his knees.

“How are you doing?” Magnus asks neutrally.

“Fine,” Raphael says. “Good.”

“That’s good.”

“Magnus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Magnus turns to look at him then. Opens then closes his mouth. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says eventually, voice hushed, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do much. You were the one who did all the work.”

“That’s not true,” Raphael says, also quiet. “I never would’ve gotten anywhere without you. I would’ve just given up right at the beginning. And I never would’ve gotten to have all this. Sometimes, I get scared thinking about the future, all the inevitable things that will happen. But I’m also _so grateful_ that I get to have all this right now. So, thank you.”

Magnus takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, then takes another breath. He wraps an arm around Raphael’s shoulders and brings him in for a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You are all very special and wonderful people,” Magnus says, voice hoarse. “And I’m very grateful, too, to have all of you in my life. Thank you, for letting me be a part of your lives.”

Raphael hugs Magnus back, and around them, the Sea of Stars glows gently under the night sky.

\---

There is a war going on halfway around the world in a country Raphael has never been to and barely heard of. As such, it isn’t something he thinks about very much. At least, until Antonio and Joaquin come home one day near the end of their second year of college with news.

“You did _what_?” Raphael practically shouts. They’re all standing in the space between the kitchen and living room and everyone is gaping at the twins, who share knowing and determined looks with each other.

“We enlisted in the war,” Joaq says calmly.

“We ship out in a month,” Tony adds, equally calm.

“Why?” their mother asks, hands clasped over her chest, looking like she’s going to cry. “Where did you even get this idea?”

“An army recruiter came to speak at our college,” Tony answers. “A lot of us enlisted. It’s a good thing to do, Mama.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?” Magnus asks, eyes wide, horrified.

Joaq and Tony both nod. “Of course,” Tony says. “We’re not children anymore. We’re aware of what could happen.”

Magnus makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, fists clenching and unclenching. Then, he stares them both straight in the eyes.

Magnus then launches into a speech about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and talks about the sky raining fire, talks about people screaming as they burned to death, talks about the bodies of _dead children_.

Everyone looks vaguely horrified at this point, but there’s panic in Magnus’s eyes as he barrels on.

“Do you have any idea how many people died on those two days alone? Do you have any idea how many warlocks—with all the magic that we have, all that power—died there those days? Wars are vicious and uncaring. Wars are driven by hatred and fear and desperation, and sometimes, that’s more powerful than magic. Magic has its _limits_ , sometimes very _strict_ limits. If you go off to war, there is nothing I, or anyone, can do to _keep you safe_.”

The twins share a look, the same thing Raphael remembers them doing since infancy.

“That’s okay, Magnus,” Joaq says softly. “No one else will have magic protecting them, anyways.” Then, turning to address all of them, “We’ve already thought and talked about this a lot. This is our decision, and we _have_ fully considered the consequences. We’re not going to change our minds. So, don’t try to make us.”

They all make an attempt of it anyways. At one point, Raphael tries for an _encanto_. But they know exactly what he’s doing and try to stop him, both reaching to clamp a hand over his mouth. Mama and Magnus pull the three of them apart, stopping them before they devolve into a physical fight.

Raphael and Miguel yell, Mario cries, and Mama and Magnus beg. But Tony and Joaq remain unmoved. And a month later, they leave for the war.

\---

The twins come home to visit whenever the army gives them leave. They keep coming, until one day, three years later, they just stop. Instead, their mother gets a visit from a very cordial and sympathetic army official. Raphael is not there when this meeting happens, but he hears about it, after.

Antonio and Joaquin were very brave and dedicated, the army official insists. They were heroes.

All this is nothing but empty platitudes.

The fact is that there was a hostage situation and Antonio and Joaquin fought to get everyone out. But, in the end, they couldn’t get out themselves.

\---

They bury the twins in a graveyard just south of Harlem. There’s an official army funeral held during the day that neither Raphael nor Magnus can attend. Raphael can’t walk in daylight and Magnus’s presence would raise too many questions and unwanted scrutiny. Instead, Raphael spends the day in Brooklyn. Magnus draws the curtains firmly shut and Raphael lies down on Magnus’s couch, silent and unmoving.

At night, the five of them gather in front of the two headstones in silence. They leave flowers and light candles and say a few prayers together. The early summer air is warm around them, fireflies hovering all over.

Raphael thinks of the day the twins were born. He was eight at the time and he remembers peering into the crib and seeing how small they were. He remembers promising to look after them and watching them grow up over the years.

He’s always known that he would one day see his brothers die. He just didn’t expect this day to come so soon. Anger sits uncomfortably in his chest and he tries not to think about Tony and Joaq dying.

_Did they suffer? Was it quick? Did they have a moment where they realized they were dying or did it just happen?_

Dying _hurts_. This is something Raphael knows firsthand. But Karnstein had purposely drawn out his death. Now, he can only hope that Tony and Joaq felt no pain.

As they stand to leave, Mama pulls all of them into a tight hug and whispers, “We’re going to be alright.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Mario says much later that night. He is eighteen and it is his turn to head off to college. From the few times they’ve visited Miguel in California, Mario became delighted by the place, and has chosen a school there.

“You should go,” Mama says with a watery smile. “It’s your first year of college. You shouldn’t miss it.”

By the time the end of summer comes and Mario prepares to leave, Raphael thinks they’re all doing a little bit better.

On the weekends, they all visit Tony and Joaq’s graves and leave sunflowers.

\---

The following summer is an interesting one. Someone throws a brick and starts a revolution, and Raphael is still figuring himself out and doesn’t fully understand the meaning of that night, but he knows that it is something _important_ , something _good_.

Magnus understands fully, though. At night, Magnus grins broadly and speaks excitedly about _change_ and _revolution_ and _finally._ Raphael thinks about the looks that people sometimes give Magnus when they’re out on the streets. Mixes of disgust and hatred and—on one memorable occasion that ended with Magnus having to restrain Raphael from doing something potentially stupid but definitely well-deserved—cruel words.

Raphael knows that there are supposedly certain things he is supposed to believe. But it isn’t that simple, is it? Besides, he’s been reinterpreting those beliefs since he was turned. They all have been doing something similar, he realizes, watching his mother’s reactions closely. She smiles at Magnus with love and without hesitation. There’s acceptance in her eyes, and Raphael remembers returning home that first winter, his dread melting away like snow once she embraced him.

That night, he follows Magnus back to Brooklyn. He sits on the couch and rubs the pads of his thumbs against the mug of blood Magnus gives him.

“What if,” he starts, trying to piece everything together. “What if I don’t like men _or_ women?”

“Then you don’t like men or women,” Magnus says simply, gently.

“It’s not a vampire thing,” Raphael says quickly.

“No, I imagine not,” Magnus agrees. “Rapha, that’s _fine_ , you know? That’s just the way some people _are_ , and it’s just the way _you_ are. Others will try to say things like ‘unnatural’ or ‘not normal’, but just because they say those things doesn’t make them _true_. Besides, it’s completely ridiculous to assign some objective meaning to something like ‘natural’ or ‘normal’. People are what they are. Don’t ever let anyone tell you how you should be.”

And he listens as Magnus tells him about the first boy he loved, the first girl he loved, and how he slowly, over the years figured out who he is. And around them, the world is slowly changing.

\---

Man walks on the moon, and Raphael spends an hour in the back courtyard of the Dumort just staring up and up and _wondering_.

“So, can you portal to the moon, now?” Mario, back for summer break, asks later.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Magnus says. “Portals can only take you to places you’ve been before. Well, excepting stationary portals, and that’s only because those portals were created by people who’ve been to all those places before. And, even if we could get a warlock on the moon, there’s no saying whether or not our magic would actually work there. Magic might be cool and all, but it’s science that got us to the moon, you know? Magic had nothing to do with it.”

“Do you think that one day, we’ll be able to live on the moon?” Mario asks excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“I think you’ve been reading too many books,” Raphael teases with a roll of his eyes, since Mario’s suggestion sounds like something out of those science fiction novels Miguel loves so much.

Mario pouts at him. “Hey, it could be _very_ possible. Don’t be a jerk, Rapha.”

“Boys,” their mother scolds with an amused smile, even though they’re all adults now.

But Raphael thinks about it some more. As he and Magnus leave the house to head back to the Dumort and Brooklyn respectively, he asks, “Would it be possible? Living on the moon?”

Magnus hums. “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest idea. It’s something completely beyond what any known magic can do, and beyond known science, too. But I mean, just looking at this accomplishment alone, it’s definitely a possibility. If you told me when I was a kid that someday someone would walk on the moon, I would’ve thought you were crazy, even after I learned magic. And yet, here we are.”

“I guess it could be cool, living on the moon,” Raphael says then looks up. The subject in question shines as it always does, looking exactly the same despite everything.

“Why stop at the moon?” Magnus says, spreading his arms wide, and grins. “There’s a whole universe out there. I would want to see it all, if that ever becomes a possibility. Hey, we could be space pirates!”

Raphael raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

Magnus grins smugly. “Why _not_?”

\---

Miguel marries a woman he met in college and whom he now works with. Her name is Mariana, and she reacts surprisingly well to the whole vampire brother and warlock unspecified-family-member thing and she makes Miguel smile, so Raphael decides that he likes her.

They hold the ceremony in Los Angeles and the whole family spends a week down there, celebrating and telling stories.

As a wedding present, Magnus gives them the keys to the house by the ocean.

Raphael watches as Miguel and Mariana move into the house and fill it up with pieces of their life together. And he remembers standing on the beach with Magnus all those years ago, and he remembers Magnus looking back to the house and saying, _“It could be beautiful.”_ He remembers not understanding what he meant. But now, as he watches the house become a _home_ , he understands. Magnus catches his eyes and smiles at him, looking equal parts proud and happy and like he wants to cry.

\---

And in the end, Mario does not become a musician or a fisherman or a magician. He becomes a scientist, and he loves every moment of it.

\---

Miguel and Mariana have a son. He’s tiny and Raphael thinks he looks a lot like Miguel did.

“You were _three_ ,” Miguel huffs. “There’s no way you actually remember what I looked like.”

“Hush, Miguel. I’m your older brother. You have to listen to me.”

“We’re all adults, you can’t pull that move anymore,” Mario protests.

Mama and Magnus roll their eyes at their antics, but remain seated next to Mariana, fussing over the new baby.

“What’s his name?” Mama asks.

“Diego,” Mariana replies with a smile, rocking her son in her arms. “After my father.”

Magnus smiles a little. “Diego Santiago.”

Miguel and Mariana share a look. Then Miguel clears his throat and says, “Diego Magnus Santiago.”

There's a long silence, then Magnus is crying silently, tears streaming down his cheeks and smudging his makeup. Soon enough, everyone else is crying as well.

Some years later, Mario and his wife will have a daughter, who they’ll name Sofia Guadalupe Santiago, and they’ll all cry again. Then once more with the birth of their son, Manuel Antonio Joaquin Santiago.

And Raphael’s not entirely sure how it happens, and Mama and Magnus always insist when asked that it’s simply for simplicity’s sake, but Mama becomes _Abuela_ to the kids, just as Magnus becomes _Abuelo._

_\---_

Two new towers rise up tall in the city. Raphael looks up at them and marvels at how quickly this city changes. He thinks of his first home, small and flat and stable, yet carrying a certain irreplaceable beauty. Meanwhile, this city is always being shaken by change and seems to grow taller and taller each year.

His mother and Magnus start having dinners at the restaurant atop one of the towers. They make a tradition of it, going once a week, every single Saturday.

He goes up to the roof of one of the towers with Mama and Magnus one night. It’s just the three of them now, with Miguel and Mario starting families in Los Angeles and Antonio and Joaquin having passed on for six years, now.

From the roof, he can see the entire city sprawling before him. It glows from the streetlights and the lights from buildings and the surrounding water glimmers under the moon. And there is a certain beauty to this city, this home, as well.

\---

The year of the bicentennial, a new vampire arrives at the Dumort. He has dark skin and brown eyes. Dreadlocks frame his face and he grins at everyone as he introduces himself.

“I’m Elliott. From Florida,” he says. “I’ve heard great things about the Harlem clan, so here I am!”

Belcourt gives him a very bored smile then waves her hand dismissively, telling Raphael to deal with their new arrival.

“Come this way, Elliott-from-Florida,” Lily says cheerily once it’s just the three of them. “Let’s find you a room and you can tell us all about yourself. Oh, and don’t mind Raphael. He’s just grumpy ninety-percent of the time.”

“Lily,” Raphael says, giving her a stern look. Miguel calls it his ‘big brother’ look, though Miguel and Mario are too old now to be affected by it.

Lily smiles sweetly at him, also unaffected, because Lily is older than Raphael’s _mother_.

Apparently, Elliott-from-Florida had some issues with his previous clan and decided to relocate to New York. He’s older than Raphael—because _of course_ he is, almost everyone in the clan is older than him _still_ —but younger than Lily. He’s loud and maybe a touch reckless and Raphael can already tell he’s going to be trouble.

“Actually,” Elliott-from-Florida says, looking at Raphael. “I came here because I heard about you. Camille Belcourt’s second in command who has single-handedly made the Dumort clan stronger in the past two decades.”

Raphael blinks at him. “Not single-handedly,” he says eventually. “I couldn’t have done it without Lily.”

“Aw,” says Lily. “And there’s the other ten-percent.”

Elliott laughs, and apparently, they have a new friend, now.

\---

“A night club?” Raphael asks. They’re in the kitchen of the house in Harlem.

Magnus nods. “A night club. For all kinds of Downworlders, though I suspect it will eventually end up attracting mundanes as well. But it’s a place for Downworlders to just be themselves, and a place that won’t draw lines between different Downworlders.”

Raphael turns the invitation over in his hands. “And you’ve been planning this for how long?”

“Oh, you know,” Magnus shrugs. “Give or take a year?”

“A year and a half, I think?” Mama says with a smile. “At least, that’s how long I’ve known.”

“I knew you were up to something,” Raphael says to Magnus. “I just can’t believe you kept it a secret for so long.”

“I wasn’t sure if it would really happen,” Magnus admits. “So, I kept quiet about it until I was sure.”

“Pandemonium,” Raphael reads off of the invitation. “Sounds interesting.”

\---

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the opening night of Pandemonium is an absolute success.

This is what Raphael thinks, at least. He’s seen the way that Magnus can command an entire room and make everyone listen to him. It’s not surprising, then, that when everyone gathers in the night club and Magnus speaks about peace and allyship amongst Downworlders, everyone nods along.

Soon, everyone’s dancing around in the large building. Lights shine down from the ceiling, some bright and luminous, others glittering like stars. Floor-ceiling-windows line the back wall, opening out to a patio that faces the water. There’s a fully stocked bar set against that wall, offering all sorts of beverages for all sorts of people. A hall to the left leads to several private rooms for people to do whatever they wish.

Raphael’s never been too fond of loud parties with lots of people, but he enjoys the opening nonetheless. He brings Lily and Elliott along with him. Elliott takes to Magnus pretty quickly and any awkwardness present between Lily and Magnus from two decades ago is long gone. Magnus chats with them for a while, then goes to make his rounds. Lily and Elliott, who are both a little drunk on plasma by now, take to the dance floor and Raphael watches after them.

Ragnor makes an appearance and the two of them retreat to the patio where it’s a little quieter. Torches line the area, casting a red-orange glow over everything.

“He’s always wanted to do something like this,” Ragnor says, looking back at the club with fondness.

“Yeah?” Raphael says.

Ragnor nods and laughs. “This and a bunch of other things I thought were crazy impossible, like the Accords. Goes to show just how much I know.”

“Well, you never know what’s possible until it happens,” Raphael offers.

Very valid point,” Ragnor says. He gives Raphael a long, considering look. “Things are good?”

"Yeah,” Raphael says without hesitation. “Things are good.”

\---

_**War** _

The name Valentine Morgenstern is quickly becoming one Raphael despises. Something dark and dangerous looms on the horizon, and it gets heavier and heavier with each death, each _slaughter_ , each Shadowhunter that laughs with glee and the Downworld’s pain.

Raphael thinks of the older Downworlders talking about a time before the Accords, and though he could never fully imagine it before, he can, now. He sees the Accords fall to shreds and watches as Morgenstern and his followers raze through the city, touting ideals about supremacy and pureness.

And though he’s seen more killing and murder in the past several months than in the entirety of his life, he still can’t fully comprehend the massive scale of _war_. The war that his brothers died in is far away and long over, and it was always something he observed only on the periphery.

Magnus knows war, though. Raphael can see it in the harsh set of his jaw and the pain in his eyes. Magnus marches through the streets with purpose and efficiency, not slowing down, especially not since Aldous Nix fled New York like a fucking coward, leaving the city without a High Warlock.

On that note, Belcourt has fled as well, along with more than half of the clan. Others talk of leaving as well, and Raphael can’t blame them. But with Belcourt gone, he’s in charge, and he can no more abandon the clan than Magnus can abandon the remaining warlocks. Lily and Elliott stay with him, scared but loyal, and he loves them for it.

He and Magnus have an argument about leaving in the early days of the war. Magnus wants Raphael to go with his mother to Los Angeles, where it will be safe. Raphael immediately rejects this, and he ends up fighting with Magnus with a degree of venom reminiscent of _their_ early days.

In the end, Magnus gives in. They take Mama to Miguel’s home in Los Angeles, giving them only the vaguest of details.

“Promise me you’ll look after each other,” Mama demands as they prepare to head back. She gives both of them long looks and even longer hugs.

“We promise,” they say.

And it’s a good thing they get back to New York when they did. For just a few days after, Morgenstern manages to erect some kind of wards over the city, letting people leave, but not letting anyone in.

No hope for reinforcements, then. None of the warlocks in the city can figure out the wards, not even Magnus. They can still portal around within the city, but not outside it.

So, war rages on. Each day brings a whole slew of new deaths to their front doors. The Shadowhunters ransack the Dumort and Raphael takes the remaining vampires and flees. He goes to Magnus, because Magnus is _safety_ and _protection_ and _love_. They hole up in Brooklyn for a while, heading out at night to save whoever they can from the Shadowhunters. Blood paints the streets red and Raphael can’t understand how the mundanes can just carry on as if everything is _normal_.

But the Shadowhunters eventually manage to invade the Brooklyn loft as well, and they’re all fleeing again, taking to the tunnels that run under the city.

As the nights drag on, Raphael begins to doubt that he’ll come out on the other side of this alive.

\---

Raphael is badly injured and bleeding all over the place. None of his enhanced vampire senses are working, so he is weaker than a mundane. He limps through the dark streets, clinging to the walls and praying that no Shadowhunter finds him.

Of course, that is exactly what happens. He barely dodges the dagger thrown at his head. The blade whizzes by, embedding itself in the wall right next to his ear. Someone makes a dissatisfied sound and Raphael turns to see which Shadowhunter has come to kill him.

He knows her.

She’s the Lightwood woman, one of Morgenstern’s most loyal followers. Maryse, or something like that. He yanks the dagger out of the wall and holds it up. Vampires don’t use weapons, for their bodies are weapons. But he is too weak for that so he grips the hilt firmly in his hands and bares his fangs at Lightwood. It’s a regular dagger as opposed to a seraph blade, so he can handle it fine.

“Vampire,” she spits, as if the word itself is something vile. She draws the sword she has strapped to her back and it flares white after she names it under her breath. “What do think you’re going to do with that?”

He’s too weak right now to charge at her with it. She hasn’t moved yet, either, merely considering him with unimpressed eyes.

He only has one shot, so he levels the dagger at her chest and hurls it. With just one smooth motion, she swings her sword and knocks the dagger from its trajectory. It goes clattering on the concrete, then the sword is pointed straight at Raphael.

 _Fuck_. He’s going to be properly dead, now, all these years later.

“You won’t win this,” he snarls at her, bracing himself against the wall. “We’ve been fighting this war since before you were even _born_. You can try, we _will_ stop you.”

“Whatever you say, vampire,” she scoffs, then charges at him with her sword.

There’s a blur of movement, the sound of metal piercing flesh, and it takes Raphael a long moment to realize what’s going on.

Magnus stands in front of him with his back to him. The tip of a seraph blade protrudes from Magnus’s back, and under the glow of the blade and the streetlights, Raphael can see blood slowly spreading across Magnus’s jacket.

Raphael blinks, once, thinking that the image before him will suddenly disappear. It doesn’t. Distantly, he can hear someone screaming, but a strange ringing in his head suddenly drowns out the screams. He is frozen stiff, and he realizes that _he’s_ the one screaming.

A weak blue glow materializes around Magnus’s hands and Raphael watches as Magnus flings the magic at Lightwood. It’s not strong enough to hurt her, but it does send her staggering backwards, ripping the sword out of Magnus’s chest as she goes. Magnus turns and grabs Raphael—who is still only half-aware of what’s happening and quite possibly in shock—and drags the two of them through a portal.

They emerge sprawled in what looks like the living room of an unfamiliar apartment. Raphael glances around frantically, panic growing exponentially as he turns and sees that Magnus has lost consciousness. The wound in his chest if gushing blood, getting all over his clothes and the floor.

Then, Catarina Loss is there, panic all over her features. She skids to a stop and kneels by Magnus’s side, hands glowing pale blue and hovering over the wound. She is yelling something, eyes darting back and forth between Raphael and Magnus. He thinks that she might be talking to him, but he can’t register any of it. Magnus lays there, skin getting paler and clammier by the second.

Catarina is ignoring him now, her magic pouring into Magnus’s wound. And despite all these decades, Raphael still doesn’t know all that much about magic. All he can do is sit there numbly, feeling _small_ and _useless_ and _terrified._

“Let me help,” he begs, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Catarina glances at him, briefly, then sticks out her left hand for him to grab. “Let me borrow some of your energy,” she says.

He does as he says, gripping onto her hand. He can feel as her magic reaches into him, drawing out his energy. Her magic swells around Magnus’s wound as she does this, and slowly—too _slowly_ —the wound stops bleeding and closes.

They settle Magnus on a bed in one of Catarina’s rooms. He hasn’t woken up yet and he still looks far too pale, but Catarina swears that he will be fine once he wakes up. Raphael settles himself on a chair next to Magnus’s bed and waits.

Over the next few days, he eventually manages to tell Catarina what happened with the Lightwood woman and slowly heals from his own injuries. Magnus still doesn’t wake, though Catarina does something with her magic every day.

Other Downworlders drop by Catarina’s apartment. She’s basically been running her apartment like a small hospital, treating everyone that comes through because of Shadowhunter cruelty.

Raphael considers calling his mother, but can’t bring himself to do it. He knows how worried she is about this whole thing, and the very last thing he wants to do is make her worry even _more_. He can’t just call and tell her that Magnus has been _stabbed_ and is unconscious and _won’t wake up._

Instead, he sits curled up in a chair by Magnus’s bed. Catarina drops in a few times each day to check on him as well, but the two of them have never gotten close despite all their mutual friends. They’re awkward with each other, but Raphael is far too concerned with other things to think much about that.

He sleeps, but only barely. All he can see when he closes his eyes is Magnus suddenly appearing in front of him, taking a hit that was meant for Raphael.

Magnus wakes up on the sixth day, blearily blinking his eyes open while Catarina fusses over him. Once he’s sitting up and some of the color has returned to his cheeks, Raphael tackles him with a hug and very resolutely does not cry. Magnus hugs him back, pressing a kiss to his forehead and running a hand through his hair. He feels small, but also safe and protected, and he hugs Magnus a little tighter.

\---

Valentine Morgenstern’s wife and _parabatai_ turn against him and suddenly the entire landscape of the war changes. And nearly as quickly as it all began, the entire war collapses in on itself. Morgenstern is presumed dead. His wife and _parabatai_ are missing. The Clave rounds up all of Morgenstern’s followers and locks them up to await judgement.

Raphael and his clanmates take back the Dumort and they set about repairing all the damage the Shadowhunters inflicted. Belcourt returns, wanting to take back her position, but the entire clan rallies around Raphael and chases her out.

“You chose to leave,” he says to her at the front door, arms crossed over his chest. He remembers seeing her for the first time at sixteen, wondering how powerful she is and just what he got himself into. “You don’t get to return. We won’t let you. If we see you in New York, we’ll treat you as an enemy.”

She glowers and curses and spits, but with the entire clan against her, there’s nothing she can do. So, she flees the city, though Raphael asks everyone to keep an eye out to make sure she doesn’t return, and he ends up the official leader of the Harlem clan, with Lily as his second in command.

He calls Magnus after this happens to let him know what’s going on. Magnus is quiet, and Raphael can’t figure out how the warlock feels about all this. In the end, Magnus just thanks him for telling him the news. They don’t talk for long, since Raphael is still putting the clan back together. Magnus is very busy as well, having been named the new High Warlock as the war ended. Nix hasn’t tried to come back, and everyone who would oppose Magnus’s appointment—Belcourt, Nix’s followers—have all fled.

“How do you feel about all this?” Raphael asks him one night over the phone when they have more time to talk. He remembers Magnus saying once that he has no desire whatsoever to be High Warlock.

“I think I’ll call myself High Warlock of Brooklyn,” Magnus says lightly. “High Warlock of New York City is too much of a mouthful and it doesn’t sound very cool at all.”

“Whatever you say, Magnus,” Raphael replies, rolling his eyes.

\---

A month later, Raphael, Magnus, and Ragnor are all gathered in Magnus’s loft and _no one_ is particularly happy.

“What do you _mean_ they’re letting the Lightwoods walk free?” Raphael demands. He’s on his feet and glaring and everyone else looks equally pissed off as well.

“Not entirely free. They’re stuck between the New York Institute and Idris for the rest of their lives,” Magnus says, as though _that’s_ any better.

“They should be _locked up_ for the rest of their lives,” Raphael spits.

Ragnor nods vehemently in agreement. “That, or executed like some of Morgenstern’s other most loyal followers.”

Magnus sighs, looking exhausted, and Raphael still clearly remembers Maryse Lightwood’s blade going through Magnus’s chest. “They have a son. A baby. Say what you will about Shadowhunters and the Clave, but they wouldn’t leave a Shadowhunter child to be abandoned.”

“Who cares about the boy? Just look at what his parents did.” _Look at what_ she _did to you,_ Raphael thinks but doesn’t say.

“Raphael,” Magnus says, all serious and stern. His ‘dad-voice’, Mario had once jokingly called it. “We cannot go around holding children responsible for what their parents do, no matter how horrible. If we all lived by a ‘sins of the father, sins of the son’ mindset, then, well, none of us would be here right now.”

Which, okay, fair point. But his anger towards Maryse Lightwood doesn’t lessen one bit.

“Doesn’t mean we have to like the situation. Doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to hate them,” Ragnor comments, still scowling. “Not disagreeing with you. Just saying.”

“Yeah,” Raphael agrees.

Magnus sighs at them again, and Raphael thinks about the Accords in London all those years ago. He remembers Magnus talking about believing in the possibility of peace. All that is dead and gone now, lost to a war driven by hatred.

"We just have to start over again," Magnus says with a note of finality. "We've done it before. We'll do it again."

\---

_**Anew** _

Once things have calmed down and Raphael and Magnus settle into their new roles, they take a trip over to the house in Los Angeles. Everyone is waiting for them there and they all cry and embrace and awkwardly talk around the war. They’re all worried, Raphael can tell, and he and Magnus are still dealing with the aftermath. But everyone in their family is still alive, so Raphael counts that as a win.

Mama has decided to stay in Los Angeles with Miguel. They decide to keep the house in Harlem, though, and with portals, it's easy to come to visit. Mama and Magnus also make plans to continue their Saturday dinners.

One night, Raphael and Magnus go out for a car ride. Or rather, Magnus attempts to teach Raphael how to drive using Miguel’s car. Mario’s son Manuel is a teenager now, and is learning how to drive. And Raphael thought it seemed interesting, so here they are.

“Don’t press too hard on the gas. Just gradually increase how hard you’re stepping on it,” Magnus instructs. He is desperately gripping at the handle above the window, which Raphael thinks is a bit of an exaggeration. He’s not _that bad_.

It’s all going relatively well, all things considered, until they come around a slight curve and Raphael accidentally slams on the gas instead of pressing the brake, sending the car hurtling forward towards a tree.

Magnus’s magic flares bright, a blue shell appearing over them and absorbing the impact of the collision. They’re both fine, though very startled. The car, unfortunately, meets a much worse fate. The hood is crinkled up and emitting smoke.

“I’m guessing that’s not supposed to happen,” Raphael says lightly.

Magnus gives him a _look_ , though honestly it seems like he’s trying not to laugh. That is, until there are flashing red and blue lights and the sound of a siren from behind them.

“Shit,” Magnus says.

“I’ll just _encanto_ him,” Raphael says, watching as the police car comes to a stop and a man walks out.

“Don’t _encanto_ the police officer,” Magnus says. “I can make fake licenses…or something.”

Raphael _encantos_ the police officer and the whole situation is cleared in a matter of seconds, which is arguably more convenient than however long it would’ve taken the officer to deal with magical fake licenses. Magnus drives them home and they both make an effort of trying to glare and trying not to laugh.

They park the car in the driveway and step out to get a good look at it.

“Can you fix it?” Raphael asks.

“We’ll see,” Magnus says, rolling up his sleeves and gathering up his magic.

Raphael heads inside first to let everyone know that they’re back.

“How’d it go?” Mama asks with a smile.

“Well.”

“What did you do to my car?” Miguel demands immediately, eyes widening with horror.

“Magnus is going to fix it,” Raphael answers quickly.

“I can’t believe you _ruined_ my car!”

Mario, who came over for dinner and stayed after to chat, bursts out laughing.

They haul lawn chairs and drinks out to the driveway and watch while Magnus fixes the car. It doesn’t take long, and soon the car is back to looking like it did a few hours ago. They sit in the perpetually warm Los Angeles night and drink and chat and it feels just like old times.

\---

On a Tuesday in September many years later, the city comes under attack while Raphael sleeps. Lily wakes him up around noon and drags him down to where nearly half the clan is already gathered around a television set. By this time, everything has already gone fully to shit.

And it’s not Shadowhunters this time, or demons, or anything like that. It’s _mundanes_ and _only_ mundanes. They watch replays of clips from earlier in the day and no one knows what to say. The sun is still out and bright and they’re all stuck here, unable to do anything.

Raphael calls Magnus, and when he doesn’t pick up after three attempts, Raphael gets a sneaking suspicion that he knows _exactly_ where Magnus is and what he’s doing. He spends the rest of the day trying not to panic about _that_ until the sun finally goes down.

Once it’s dark, Raphael runs out of the Dumort, speeds down familiar streets, passing by people with shell-shocked expressions and tears in their eyes.

When he arrives, it’s raining ash and paper. There’s an impenetrable field of smoke and he can smell blood, sharp and fresh and grating on his nose.

He finds Magnus about an hour later, reuniting lost children with their parents. He is coated in ash and his clothes are ruined and his hair is a mess.

Later, they stand together in silence with the gathered crowd, staring at the ruins obscured in smoke.

He remembers watching the towers go up three decades ago. He thinks of Magnus talking about the things that mundanes can accomplish and how quickly they can accomplish them. He remembers standing of the roof, looking over the city. He thinks of the tradition of Saturday dinners.

All of that, gone.

\---

The Institute calls on the Dumort clan for help, asking them for help. There are Downworlders smuggling _yin fen_ into the city and the Institute wants Raphael to look into it. He takes the job, because they’re supposed to be ‘rebuilding friendly relations’ or some shit like that, but he also wants to hurl the phone against the wall because it’s Maryse Lightwood calling him and he’ll die (again) before he even considers forgiving her.

“Don’t take that tone with me, vampire,” she says, voice just as condescending as he remembers, and he wonders if she even remembers him. “There’ll be a young Shadowhunter coming to stay with us soon and I want your word that this _situation_ will be handled so my children are safe.”

Which is rich of her, considering. They slaughtered so many Downworlder children during the Uprising without even batting an eye. And it’s because of her own child that she and her husband escaped facing justice.

Magnus sometimes talks about how holding on to hatred and resentment is unhealthy and will ultimately end very poorly. But then Raphael remembers Maryse Lightwood’s sword embedded in Magnus’s chest and he just can’t bring himself to care about how it ends.

He and Lily talk through their plans on how they’re going to handle the situation. The next night, he gets together with Ragnor and Tessa, and when he mentions the job in passing, Tessa gets this pensive look on her face.

“You know,” she begins, biting her lip. “I know someone who might be able to help you.”

Ragnor raises his eyebrows at this and the two of them share a look. Raphael figures that this is another one of those things that happened before his time.

Tessa tells him to seek out a Silent Brother named Brother Zachariah.

“I’m not able to contact and tell him about this,” Tessa explains. “But if you find him, he’ll be willing to help.”

He and Lily find Tessa’s Silent Brother in the Shadow Market, and Raphael is immediately struck by how different he looks in comparison to other Silent Brothers. He has a youthful appearance, looking about twenty. His eyes are not stitched shut, but rather a strange shade of silvery-brown. His mouth, too, in unstitched, though he still speaks into their minds. Raphael can hear a hint of a British accent in Brother Zachariah’s voice, and he wonders if the Silent Brother falls into Tessa’s story about two Shadowhunter boys in London.

Brother Zachariah is hesitant at first, but agrees to help them. None of them bring up Tessa.

The whole _yin fen_ smuggling situation is a mess, but between the three of them, they manage to reign it in. The rest, Raphael intends to turn over to the Institute to handle. He and Lily part ways with Tessa’s Silent Brother in the Shadow Market, then make their way back to New York.

At the Institute he and Lily are immediately apprehended by Maryse Lightwood.

“You’re late,” she snaps with a glare.

Raphael glares back. “Handling a situation like this will take as long as it takes. If you don’t like that, then you’re always free to take care of all this on your own.”

Beside him, he can feel Lily darting nervous glances between him and Lightwood. In the back of his mind, Magnus’s voice is reminding him not to start anything.

“Believe me,” Lightwood sneers, “I would not be calling on you had I any other choice. Now that you’re here, let’s get on with it. Follow me.”

She leads them to her office. There are two children playing inside, a boy and a girl.

“Wait for me outside,” she says to them both, voice gentle and smiling. Raphael can only wonder how the children would react if they saw their mother as she was during the Uprising.

The children make their way to the door but stop in front of Raphael and Lily. There’s a long, uncomfortable moment when the two Shadowhunters look up at the two vampires. Raphael is focused on the boy, who blinks up at him with wide blue eyes.

“I’m Alec Lightwood,” the boy says. “I basically twelve.”

Raphael knows _exactly_ who the boy is. Intellectually, he understands that the boy is not at fault for anything. He is a child and _innocent_ , and the only real problem is that he’s being raised by hateful bigoted people. Intellectually, he gets this.

But _emotionally_ , all he can think is war and _slaughter_ and Magnus nearly _dying_. He remembers hands coated with blood and unending terror and feeling so small and so alone. His hatred is white-hot and unrelenting and it’s one of the more awful things he inherited from the man who shares half his blood.

Raphael wants, desperately, to hate this boy. If it weren’t for him, then Maryse Lightwood would be rotting in a dark jail cell in Idris, right where she belongs.

He wants to say to the boy, _“How would you feel if I marched up to your father and shoved a blade through his chest and made you watch? How would you feel if you had to sit by your father’s bedside for a week, separated from your mother and siblings, not knowing if he’ll ever wake up? How would you feel, if, at the end of all that, the person responsible for hurting your father walks away free?”_

Lily nudges him, worry dancing in her eyes, and Raphael says none of that. He forces away his glare and settles for nodding stiffly at the boy.

“Alec, go play with your sister somewhere else,” Maryse Lightwood says. She’s looking at Raphael and Lily with suspicion, as if afraid they’ll hurt her children. There’s a sick, terrible irony to all that. _She’s_ the one who killed Downworlder children for sport.

Raphael doesn’t say that aloud either, and the two children leave the room. He and Lily spend an hour filling Lightwood in on the _yin fen_ situation. Once they’re done, Lightwood marches them straight to the Institute doors, closing it after them without a single word of thanks.

He tells Lily to go back to the Dumort without him then marches over to Brooklyn. He spends a night sulking in his room while Magnus quietly fusses. Magnus cups his face and kisses his forehead.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep scowling like that,” Magnus teases gently.

“Vampires can’t get wrinkles,” Raphael grumbles back. Then, “I _hate_ her.”

Magnus lets out a soft sigh. “I know.”

Raphael is under no impression that Magnus has forgiven the Shadowhunters for anything. He knows that Magnus is still furious at them for everything that happened. But Magnus can restrain and conceal that anger in ways Raphael can’t manage. Magnus is among those planning the first meeting of the Accords since the Uprising that will happen in just a few years.

“We have to move on, Rapha,” Magnus says, voice quiet and sad. “Before, one of the biggest problems was that we were forever caught in an unending loop of hatred and revenge. That can’t happen again. We’ve already lost so many people. We can’t lose anymore. So, we _have to_ move on.”

Raphael rests his head against Magnus’s shoulder. “I know.”

\---

The lobby of the nursing home is quiet and near-empty, but it’s dark out and after visiting hours, though not so late that people will be asleep, so that’s hardly a surprise. Raphael glances at the receptionist sitting behind the desk and readjusts his grip around the bag of tangerines, and begins to wonder whether this is a very crazy idea.

Probably, but he doesn’t feel too inclined to change his mind.

He walks up to the front desk and _encantos_ the receptionist, asking her for the room number he’s looking for. He steps onto the elevator and watches as the numbers tick up, up, then stop. The door he’s looking for is halfway down the hall. He pauses outside of it and stares like doing that will make something happen.

Maybe he should’ve brought flowers.

He knocks and after a few seconds, he hears her voice saying to come in.

Slowly, he pushes open the door and steps inside. She’s sitting on her bed reading a book, but she looks up when he walks in and her eyes go wide with shock.

It’s been over fifty years, but she seems to remember him. Which is good. If she didn’t remember him, all of this would’ve been a colossal mess of a problem.

“Hello, Etta.”

She blinks at him, as if thinking that she’s only imagining him. “Raphael.”

She’s in her late eighties and brown hair has gone all white, pulled into a loose bun atop her head. Her skin is pale and wrinkled and her eyes are the same as they always were, brown and a bit wary.

“I, um, heard from Magnus that you wrote to him asking to see him,” he says by way of explanation, though Magnus does not know he's here. “And I saw the return address on the envelope.”

“Oh,” Etta says, still blinking.

Raphael holds up the bag. “I brought tangerines. From California. Apparently, they’re better than the ones we have here. At least, that’s what my brother says. I wouldn’t know.”

“Thanks?”

This is officially going terribly. But he’s always been persistent.

“I wanted to apologize to you,” he says, getting straight to the point.

Etta softens at this, a small smile gracing her lips. “Have a seat, Raphael,” she says, gesturing at the chair set by her bed.

He does as she says, setting the bag of tangerines down on her nightstand. “I wanted to apologize,” he repeats. “I treated you terribly, back then. I was angry and scared and ended up taking that out on you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Etta tells him. “You were just a kid. And I was scared of every Downworlder other than Magnus, even his friends, to be honest. I don’t know anything about becoming a vampire or anything like that, but I know you were going through something difficult.”

“Still,” Raphael says, staring at the ground. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Etta just smiles. “Believe me. My own children were way worse as teenagers whenever we fought.”

“Oh,” Raphael says.

He shifts in the chair and glances towards the window. From Etta’s room, he can see where the city meets the bay. Just four years ago, he would’ve been able to see the towers from here. Now, that space is just empty.

“How are you, Etta?” he asks, still facing the window.

“Good,” she says. “Happy. How about you? Are you happy?”

He remembers Miguel asking him the same question many years ago. And despite everything that’s happened in between, overall, his answer hasn’t really changed.

“Yeah. I’m happy.”

“Good,” Etta says. He hears her take a deep breath and turns to look at her. “Is Magnus happy? He said he is when I asked, but he’s the kind of person to say that just to make me feel better, you know?”

Raphael knows _exactly_ what she’s talking about.

“He’s happy,” Raphael assures her. He doesn’t get into the specifics, since it’s their family and not Etta’s, but he can tell her this much, at least.

“Good,” she says again with a smile. “It’s wonderful to hear that everything turned out well, in the end.”

“It is.”

As he stands to leave, she says, “Thank you for coming to talk with me, Raphael. And for the tangerines.”

“You’re welcome,” he says from the door. “Goodbye, Etta.”

The last thing he sees as the door closes is her taking a tangerine out of the bag and smiling.

\---

The first Accords meeting after the Uprising goes _terribly_ , but did anyone really think it would go well?

The first problem is that the Shadowhunters arranged to have it held in Idris, much to the dismay of the Downworld.

At the meeting, very few people even bothered with civility, instead turning straight to accusations and drawing weapons. Somehow, Magnus and the others overseeing the meeting manage to force everyone back into their seats. But by then, everyone is glaring and furious and in no mood for discussion.

It ends with Raphael feeling like they’ve taken more steps backwards than forwards, and he and Magnus are quiet as they portal back to Brooklyn.

Magnus pours them both a drink as they settle across from each other on the chairs by the window.

“So. That could’ve gone better,” Magnus says.

“I never would’ve guessed,” Raphael remarks drily.

Magnus huffs out a laugh, but it’s weak. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting,” he says quietly. “Try again next time, I guess.”

In that moment, Magnus looks very, very old. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes lined with exhaustion that goes beyond just the Uprising and its aftermath. Raphael wonders what it’s like, to carry the weight of multiple centuries of hatred and war and death. To fight so hard and long for something approaching peace, to _finally_ get it, only for it to be ripped to shreds like something insignificant only a century or so later.

As old as Raphael is now, there’s still so much he doesn’t know, will probably never be able to understand. As much as he’s seen of this war, he’s only barely scratched the surface. He hates realizing how young he is relative to everything else. It makes him feel weak and useless, unable to do anything for those he loves.

“We’ll try harder next time,” Raphael says. “We _all_ will.”

“Yeah,” Magnus agrees. “I mean, balance of probability suggests that we’ll get there _eventually_.” Then, he adds jokingly, “Maybe then we can retire.”

“What would we even do with retirement?” Raphael asks, gladly clinging to the lighter topic.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to Hawaii,” Magnus says with conviction.

“Hawaii.”

Magnus nods. “It’s a beautiful place, both in terms of nature and culture. And it’s surrounded by the ocean. So, yeah. Hawaii.”

“Alright then,” Raphael agrees with a small smile. “Hawaii.”

\---

_**Loss** _

One summer day, Guadalupe Santiago lies down for a nap, listening to the sound of waves crash against the shore. She closes her eyes, thinking of her family and the life she’s led the past ninety-six years. And the pain and joy, losses and triumphs.

She thinks of taking her children and running to a new country to keep them all safe. She thinks of magic and a strange, new world becoming a familiar one.

As she drifts off to sleep, she is happy and content and at peace.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face and she does not wake up again.

\---

His mother wanted to be buried next to Antonio and Joaquin, so they bring her body over to New York. She wanted a private nighttime funeral so Raphael can attend, so there’s that to take care of as well.

Raphael knows next to nothing about what goes into planning a funeral and he’s been completely numb since he got the news, so he can hardly pay attention to what’s going on. He is aware that Magnus is taking care of everything for them, paying for everything and calling the graveyard and funeral home and arranging for things to be made and sent over.

Raphael feels guilty for doing nothing but sit in his room in Brooklyn all day, but as soon as he starts thinking, he starts remembering Miguel’s voice on the phone, giving him the news. As soon as he remembers that, he collapses on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, forcing himself to go numb.

His brothers and their kids are in the loft as well, sleeping in rooms that Magnus conjured up for them. They’re all quiet and solemn, barely speaking above whispers. The kids start fussing over them, trying to keep the three brothers afloat while they grieve the death of their mother.

They’re wonderful kids, Raphael’s niece and nephews, and they’ve grown up to be such wonderful adults. Their grandmother would be _so_ proud.

\---

The photograph they use for Mama’s funeral is one of Raphael’s favorites.

It is in sepia, and in it, she stands on the back patio of the building that eventually became Pandemonium, her back to the water. Her body is angled just slightly away from the cameral. She’s wearing a floral dress and a straw hat with a wide brim and flowers pinned to it. The photograph catches her in the middle of a laugh, her head tilted slightly back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. Her right hand is right above her ear, brushing away a stray strand of hair. She would’ve been sixty-eight in the photo, but there is a certain youth to her features.

Even though Raphael wasn’t there when the photograph was taken, he can imagine the moment in his mind. His mother is turned to the water, Magnus standing behind her with that camera he loved to carry around for a while. She turns her body around and laughs when she sees Magnus holding the camera up. A breeze blows by and she lifts a hand to brush her hair out of the way. The camera snaps. A moment is captured and preserved forever.

 _I do not want you to be sad when I die_ , reads the letter she left for them, written a couple of years before her death. Raphael already has most of it committed to memory. _I want you to know that I love all of you immensely and with all my heart. And I want you to know that I am happy with my life and have no regrets. When I die, it will not be a sad thing for it will be my time to die, to move on to what’s next. I am so grateful to have all of you in my life._

The letter does not make Raphael feel much better. It just reminds him that she’s gone. He’ll never hear her voice again or see her smile again. He’ll never get to hug her or listen to her sing lullabies. All he has left are memories and moments caught in time, like the photograph.

The thing is, he’s been preparing for this moment. He’s always known it would come, just like how he knows that one day he’ll be standing over Miguel’s grave and Mario’s grave, until one day, it’ll be just him and Magnus. These are all inevitable things. And it’s not like Antonio and Joaquin, who had their lives ripped away before their time. Miguel says that Mama was smiling when they found her, at peace.

But this does not make him feel better, either.

There are sunflowers on his mother’s grave. Raphael sees Magnus with his face hidden, fidgeting with the sunflower ring still on his right hand. He sees Miguel and Mario with their head bowed and shoulders hunched. He sees the kids silently crying and clinging close together. He thinks Sofia has Mama’s sunflower ring.

The stars and moon are high above and glowing bright when the priest finishes reciting the prayers. The priest nods at them and offers his condolences once again before taking his leave.

The graveyard is silent around them, not even the sound of bugs or animals breaking through. It’s as if the night is grieving with them.

He’s technically an orphan, now, Raphael realizes. The thought sits heavy and ugly, and he wants to rage and yell and destroy something. Instead, he shoves his hands into the jacket Magnus got him and clenches his fist around his mother’s cross.

For the first time, he wishes that it would just burn him.

\---

Raphael buries himself in work. He takes care of all the issues within the clan without stopping for a break. He even takes on a quick job for the Institute and thankfully doesn’t have to deal with any Lightwoods. Lily and Elliott share worried looks while all this happens. He’s fallen back into old habits, not feeding or sleeping for days. They express their concerns but Raphael just brushes them off.

Ragnor drops by to offer his condolences. As does Tessa. Even Catarina Loss comes by one night. This goes on for nearly two weeks before Magnus arrives and forces him out of his office, dragging him over to Brooklyn.

Magnus pushes a mug of blood into his hands and won’t stop staring at him until Raphael drinks it. Then, Magnus forces him to go to sleep, practically herding him towards his room. Raphael lets all this happen without any further protest. Maybe it’s a bit forceful, but that is exactly what he needs right now, he thinks.

He basically lives in Brooklyn for the next six months, traveling back and forth between there and the clan as needed. Magnus takes care of him as he always does and Raphael tries his hardest to take care of Magnus as well. They spend the nights talking about Mama, or talking about something else, or just not talking at all, sitting in a familiar comfortable silence.

On Sundays, they Mama’s grave and leave sunflowers.

\---

One night, about a year after his mother’s death, Raphael goes out drinking with Ragnor. They both drink a little too much and stumble out of the bar and into the streets of the Shadow Market, laughing and tripping.

Ragnor offers him a portal to the Dumort or Brooklyn or wherever he wants, but Ragnor is too drunk to portal himself, let alone someone else, so Raphael turns down his offer and they part ways.

He feels fine. Drunk, but _fine_ , but as he steps out of the Market and back into New York, he remembers that it’s been over a year now, and collapses in on himself.

His chest feels like it’s cracking open, and he remembers sixty-one years ago, Magnus talking about how being alive isn’t about a beating heart but rather about _feeling_. And Raphael feels so much in this moment, caught between past and present.

He remembers being very small and sitting in his mother’s lap in their backyard in Mexico, the warm night air surrounding them. He remembers their home, his mother’s laughter ringing in the air. He remembers fleeing to America and staying strong for his younger brothers but letting himself fall apart in his mother’s arms at night.

He remembers her immediate acceptance of him when he came home as a vampire. He remembers nights in the Harlem house spent laughing and talking like old times. He remembers watching her grow older and he remembers watching her be happy.

He remembers being _loved_ and he’s crying now, blood flowing freely down his cheeks.

That’s how Magnus finds him, however long later, on his knees in a dirty, forgotten alley somewhere, face stained with blood.

Magnus kneels down in front of him, face solemn. He reaches his hands out, placing them around Raphael’s face. His magic glows in the dark of the alley, easing the pain in Raphael’s eyes and washing away the blood. Raphael leans into the touch.

“Raphael,” Magnus says, and it looks like he’s crying, too. He stands, holds out a hand to Raphael. “Let’s go home, Rapha.”

\---

Here’s the thing about Magnus Bane.

Magnus is the one person who’s been with him from the very beginning of Raphael’s discovery of the Downworld. Magnus is someone who has always stayed by his side and protected him and kept him safe and cared for him, even back when Raphael was awful to him.

Magnus is goodness and kindness and what Raphael wants to think about when he thinks the word ‘father’.

This is why Raphael is willing to follow Magnus _anywhere_. Whether it’s retirement in Hawaii and being space pirates in the far, far future, or something else grand and ridiculous entirely.

So, when Magnus holds out his hand for him to take, Raphael takes it.

Magnus has always, _always_ led him out of the dark before. And he will lead him out of the dark again, as many times as Raphael needs.

\---

They go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Malec, the events of the six main TMI books (plus a bit of Red Scrolls of Magic) plus select elements of show canon, and more.
> 
> The first part is from The Bane Chronicle's 'Saving Raphael Santiago,' though I've made changes and taken liberties. And yes, I went with the book canon of 'several brothers' rather than Rosa. (I like you Rosa, I do, but I came up with the very initial idea for this story before anyone even knew you existed. So.)
> 
> The part with Raphael, Lily, Brother Zachariah, and Maryse is from Son of the Dawn, though, again, I have taken liberties. (And yes, Zachariah will be back, and I most definitely will NOT rob him of his happily ever after like the show did, especially after they went out of their way to include him in the story.)
> 
> And yes, I went with blue-eyed Alec. If only so that I can do the whole 'blue, like Magnus's magic' thing if I ever write a Magnus POV of this fic. I always loved that and was sad when it couldn't be incorporated into the show.


	2. when i'm older i'll be silent beside you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things about this chapter, in order of importance:  
> 1\. Remember that I promised a HAPPY ENDING and that I WILL follow through on this promise.  
> 2\. TAGS.  
> 3\. Fic title is meaningful (at least I hope it is)  
> 4\. This chapter is officially more book canon than show canon (plus my own crazy changes to both canons, especially a couple major things in CoHF), but I think (hope) I've written things in a way that a show-only or book-only person can understand. Feel free to let me know if you have any questions, though!  
> 5\. Also, would anyone be interested in a 3-part Magnus POV? (Because I have sort-of plans. I also have my LSAT coming up, but, you know. Priorities.)

_**Daylight** _

“So,” Raphael says, walking into the loft and dropping down onto the couch. “You’re dating a Shadowhunter.”

Magnus nods at him with a cheeky grin. “I’m dating a Shadowhunter.”

“And you crashed his wedding. In front of the whole Institute,” Raphael goes on. Just because he’s already heard this story being passed around the entire Downworld, doesn’t make the whole thing seem any less bizarre. “What did his ex-bride-to-be even think of all this, anyways?”

“I think Lydia was alright with it,” Magnus says, though with a touch of concern. “She had her own reasons for not wanting to go through with the wedding. I knew another Branwell back in London, you know? He married a Fairchild and they ran the Institute together. They were both wonderful people.”

Magnus is doing that thing where he’s unsubtly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. In this case, he’s moving away from the topic of the Lightwood boy—which Raphael has strong feelings about—towards the topic of London—which Raphael has always been curious about.

But everyone has an opinion on Magnus dating the Lightwood boy.

Lily and Elliott had gossiped about it for hours and announced, “We should all be supportive.” To which Raphael said, “If you have time to gossip about Shadowhunter drama, then you have time to go on patrol.” To which the two of them had rolled their eyes and went on patrol, continuing to gossip as they did so.

Ragnor had said, “I hear he looks just like Will Herondale.” To which Raphael said, “I wouldn’t know about that.” Then Ragnor added, “Well, this should be interesting, either way.” And Raphael had said, “Want to bet on it?” Which is how they end up betting twenty bucks on how they think this particular relationship will go.

Miguel and Mario had said, “So, when do we get to meet this guy? Should we come over to New York? Mario, book us plane tickets to New York.” To which Raphael said, “Do _not_ come over to New York. Do you have any idea how dangerous things are right now? Stay put, otherwise I’ll tell Magnus who _really_ broke that tea set, _Mario_.” This opened up the way for the ‘I’m older than you so you have to do what I say’ conversation, which inevitably led to the ‘Just because you’re older than us doesn’t mean we have to do what you say. We’re all fucking adults, Rapha. We have _grandchildren_ ’ conversation. To which Raphael scowled and responded, “Language,” and then promptly hung up.

Sometimes, younger brothers are the most irritating people in the world.

Now, Raphael narrows his eyes at Magnus and asks, “Does your Shadowhunter know what his mother did?”

“No,” Magnus says immediately. “He doesn’t. He _definitely_ doesn’t. Besides, I don’t really think it’s relevant to our relationship?”

“ _Right_ ,” Raphael drawls, his tone saying all the things he doesn’t.

“Well, it’s not as if she can try to kill me again.”

“Magnus, that’s not _funny_.”

“No, I suppose not,” Magnus sighs. “Alexander isn’t his parents. Neither are his siblings.”

Raphael grunts noncommittally.

“I like him. I don’t know where all this is going or if anything will come of this, but I like him,” Magnus says, running a hand through his hair. The sunflower ring glints on his finger. “And he likes me, too. And for now, that’s enough.”

Raphael gives him a long look. There’s a small smile on the warlock’s face, and a look that might be described as _dreamy_ as he gazes out the window into the night. At the very least, Magnus seems _happy_ , even if Raphael has, in his opinion, completely justified doubts about all this.

“Be careful, Magnus.”

“Of course.”

\---

Simon approaches him one night, looking nervous but determined.

“How come you can say G—” Simon says, or tries to say, tripping over the last word. “I mean, none of the others seem to be able to.”

Raphael’s hand goes to the cross in his pocket, brushing fingers against the cool gold. “I practiced,” he says simply.

“Do you—could you teach me?” Simon asks. His voice is soft and his eyes wide. There’s a certain vulnerability to him. Simon is still just a fledgling, older than Raphael was back then, but still basically just a _kid_.

The sire-bond is a strange thing. Raphael’s never felt it before, given that he killed his own sire pretty much right after he was turned. Now, it’s this quiet, subtle thing in the back of his mind. Most times, he’s barely even aware of its presence. But sometimes, when he reaches for it or when Simon’s emotions are particularly strong, it tugs at him. Right now, for instance, he can feel waves of desperation and sorrow coming from Simon.

He thinks about it for a moment. Imagines having Simon hold a Star of David and say prayers until he burns and his mouth bleeds. Imagines the other stuff as well, the forced starvation and the running across sacred graveyards.

“Fine,” Raphael says. “But I’m not giving you my method of doing it.”

“Why not?”

“ _Because_ ,” Raphael says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Because in hindsight, that was not the best way to go about it.”

“But you’ll still help me?”

“I’ll still help you.”

\---

Magnus once said that slowing down can be helpful, during those early days when Raphael wasn’t willing to listen to him, or anyone, for that matter. But he is older and more mature now, or so he wants to believe, so he takes that advice and runs with it.

He hands Simon a Star of David and lets him hold it for a minute at a time before taking it away. They make their way through Simon’s prayers, and though the words are unfamiliar to him, they seem to bring comfort to Simon in a way Raphael _is_ familiar with.

As the nights go on, the amount of time Simon can hold the Star increases. They still get frustrated at each other, because Simon is still coming to terms with his vampirism and because this kind of thing has never been Raphael’s specialty. But there’s nothing like his early days with Magnus, so Raphael counts this as an improvement.

On this note, Raphael also owes Magnus a huge apology. Several huge apologies.

One night, he and Simon sit on the roof of the Dumort, looking out over the city.

“Can I ever see my family again?” Simon asks.

Raphael glances at the young vampire from the corner of his eye. Very, very carefully, he says, “Yes.”

Simon looks miserable despite that. “I was talking to the others. They all said they either had to leave their families behind or only be with them from a distance. The one’s whose families found out, said that they had to make their families forget it happened because of how bad that all went. And I have Clary and Luke, and I’m grateful to them and I love them. But I want to see my mother and my sister, you know? But that just doesn’t seem possible.”

These are all things that Raphael knows. Just like how he knows that the hole in the ceiling several feet away from where they are sitting is the hole that was over the room Magnus found him in, the room where he died and killed his friends and _turned_. The room where he first thought that he was _damned_ , before he later—much, much later—learned he wasn’t.

He knows that he got lucky, all those decades ago. He knows that what he has now with his family and their acceptance of everything is _rare_ and _precious_. He also knows that he can’t make Simon any promises for that reason. But Simon looks so small and hopeless in that moment.

“My mother knew,” Raphael says slowly, and Simon’s head snaps up. “And my brothers know. And we’re all fine.”

Simon squints at him. “‘Fine’ like they know you’re a vampire and they didn’t try to chase you out with a cross or hire a priest to cleanse you or something?”

“Where did you even—never mind,” Raphael says, giving his head a shake. “Yes, ‘fine’ like that. I told them the truth, once I got my bloodlust under control. And my mother and brothers were all fine with it.”

“Did you know your mother would be fine with it before you told her?”

“No.” In fact, he’d been convinced that the opposite would happen and probably wouldn’t have even bothered to try if it weren’t for Magnus. “But it all worked out in the end, anyway.”

“Maybe it will work out for me, too,” Simon says with forced-lightness. He looks at Raphael with a wavering smile, and when Raphael focuses on the bond, he can detect hints of fear and sorrow.

He looks Simon straight in the eye and says, “When you’re ready, we’ll give that a try.”

\---

Of course, not everything can be solved through conversations on rooftops. Aside from what Raphael is trying to do with Simon, there’s still the problem of Valentine Morgenstern being not dead.

Raphael wants to get as far away from that problem as possible. He wants to sequester the entire clan away in the Dumort and lock down the doors, not letting anyone in or out. He wants to thrust the entirety of this problem onto the Shadowhunters. Morgenstern is one of them. He’s their responsibility. When Raphael closes his eyes, he sees war and blood and Magnus with a blade through his chest. Always, always, back to that.

Except Magnus is already involved, hanging around his new boyfriend, his siblings, and the Fairchild girl. Trying to help them wake up Jocelyn Fairchild, trying to help them locate Morgenstern. Raphael doesn’t understand romantic love, but he does understand Magnus. And he knows what Magnus is willing to do for those he cares about, and the Lightwood boy now happens to be one of those people.

And Simon is involved, too, with his blatantly obvious crush on the Fairchild girl. He keeps running off with the Shadowhunters, getting involved with their schemes and missions but always returning to the Dumort alone. Lily and Elliott like to say that Simon is caught in the midst of a doomed tragic love triangle, where the other two people are apparently brother and sister, yet Simon still can’t ‘get the girl’. And Raphael is just grateful that he has no interest in that kind of thing, because all that just seems like an unnecessary headache.

Still, Simon always goes when Fairchild comes calling and he always returns looking dejected and bringing news of what’s going on. Morgenstern’s still on the loose, Fairchild the older is still in a magic coma, Fairchild the younger and the golden Lightwood are still related and still making eyes at each other, and Magnus and Alec seem very in love with each other.

“Well,” Elliott says one night after Simon gets back. “At least someone’s happy.”

He and Lily find the whole thing with Magnus and Lightwood to be hilarious. In fact, everyone finds the whole thing to be hilarious.

“Isn’t Lightwood technically related to Tessa?” Raphael asks Ragnor one night.

“ _Very_ technically,” Ragnor says. “And only by marriage, I think. Also, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“Not so fast. It’s way too early to be cashing in on the bet.”

“Fine, we’ll give it a few months,” Ragnor drawls, and he can hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “I’ll be in Idris on business for a while, so I won’t be able to call. You’d better have that twenty bucks ready when I get back.”

“We’ll see.”

\---

Raphael remembers:

It’s the early days, when Magnus is still Bane and Raphael still hates everything around him, including himself.

Raphael’s room in the Brooklyn loft has no windows. He can tell what time it is only by the clock on the bedside table and his own, new vampire senses. He gets tired when it’s light out, alert when it’s night.

He hates it all.

He doesn’t always sleep during the day, just lies down on the bed and listens to the sounds around the loft. When he hears Magnus leave, he steps out of his own room. The loft is dark because Magnus has charms over all the curtains to draw shut whenever Raphael steps out during the day.

But the magic doesn’t _keep_ the curtains shut. Raphael walks up to the window by the balcony and draws the curtain open, just a crack. Sunlight filters in and it blinds him and something deep within in _hurts_ even though he hasn’t even touched it yet. But he just stares and stares at the sliver of sunlight.

Slowly, he extends out his right hand, letting his fingers touch the light.

He stands there, biting back the pain, and lets it _burn and burn and burn._

\---

The whole thing with Morgenstern comes to a head one night when Raphael and Simon are out on the streets for training.

Morgenstern and his four of his followers emerge from the shadows, seraph blades aglow and leers on their faces. They’re here for Simon, whom they want to use as bait for the Fairchild girl.

And in the end, Raphael is _too slow_ and _too weak_ and Simon is just a fledgling. Morgenstern grabs Simon and holds a blade up to his throat and the threat is clear, even if Morgenstern does nothing but cackle maniacally.

And just like that, the fight is over before it really begins. The Shadowhunters slip bags over Raphael and Simon’s heads and drag them away.

\---

They’re on a boat somewhere, Raphael thinks. He can hear the faint sound of water hitting against the walls, and the even fainter sense of the room rocking.

He and Simon are tied up with their backs to each other in the center of the room. There are manacles around their wrists and when Raphael cranes his head back, he can see crosses and Stars of David etched onto the metal. That alone has Simon wincing in pain, but the manacles must’ve been doused with holy water or something similar, for Raphael can feel his wrists burning.

Morgenstern stands off to the side, conversing quietly with two of his followers.

“You have a plan, right?” Simon whispers to him. His voice is tinged with nervousness and fear dances in his eyes. “Tell me you have a plan.”

Raphael does not have a plan, but Simon doesn’t need to know that. “Working on it,” he says instead. He tests the manacles, but even vampire strength is useless against them, and all he gets for his trouble is burns on his wrists.

“Don’t worry,” Morgenstern says, approaching them with long, languid steps and his arms crossed behind his back. “Clarissa will be joining us soon enough. I’m sure that between the two of us, Simon, we can convince her that coming to work with her father is the right choice, don’t you?”

“You’re sick,” Simon spits, all that fear from earlier gone as he glares down Morgenstern. Raphael is quietly impressed. “Clary will _never_ join you. You’re not even her real family. Jocelyn, Luke, and I, we’re her family. And, um, Jace too, I guess, but that’s not the point! You’re just some creepy guy who’s going to fail, because my friends are going to beat you.”

Morgenstern’s face is impassive, and he is silent for so long that it’s edging towards uncomfortable. Then, his face breaks into a mad grin and he throws his head back and laughs. Raphael and Simon exchange worried looks over their shoulders.

“Is that what they told you? That they’re going to beat me?” Morgenstern says. “They’re going to _join_ me, once they see that my way is the right way. I will usher forth a new generation of Shadowhunters, better and stronger than all those who came before. I will—”

“Yeah, right,” Raphael interjects with a scoff. “That’s what you said during the Uprising, and look at how that went. We beat you once already, Valentine Morgenstern. Obviously, we didn’t beat you hard enough, but trust me, we won’t be making that mistake again.”

Morgenstern glares at him. “You’d better watch your tone, vampire. If you wish to live into this new future that I’m creating, you’d better start showing some respect.”

“Or what?”

Morgenstern makes a minute gesture with his hand that Raphael almost misses. One of the other Shadowhunters, who’s been standing behind Raphael and Simon, unsheathes a dagger, and in one fluid movement, drives it straight into Raphael’s stomach and _twists_.

Raphael’s eyes go wide at the pain and he coughs, blood splattering from his mouth. Simon screams something, but all Raphael can feel is the burning in his stomach. The Shadowhunter, whose expression has remained neutral the whole time, steps back and pulls the dagger out.

“A fine blade. Forged with holy water,” Morgenstern says, which explains why it _burns_ and why his enhanced vampire healing is doing nothing about it. “Next time, it’ll be through your heart. Now, let’s send a little message to Clarissa, shall we?”

He reaches out and grabs Simon, pulling him away. And Raphael would try to stop all this, except he’s still chained up and there’s a _fucking burning wound_ in his stomach. Instead, all he can do is watch in horror while one of the Shadowhunters takes out a phone and presses record while Morgenstern brings his sword up to Simon’s throat.

Simon screams as it happens and blood gushes out, coating his neck and staining his shirt. Raphael watches from a few feet away, his own wound still bleeding furiously.

“There,” Morgenstern says, messing with the phone. He then turns to Simon and smiles. “I’ve sent it to Clarissa.”

“Do you _really_ think,” Raphael manages to grind out, drawing Morgenstern’s attention to himself, “that she’ll want anything to do with you after what you’ve done to her best friend?”

“Of course. I am her father, after all. I’ve just given her a little,” Morgenstern pauses here, glances at Simon, who’s laying flat on his back, eyes blown wide with pain, “incentive.”

He and Simon are fucked, Raphael realizes. They’re both horribly injured and trapped in a room with a madman, which sounds like a title for one of those gauche thriller novels that Miguel sometimes reads. It’s not a particularly helpful nor relevant thought, but it is what occurs to Raphael in the delirium from the pain.

A knock comes on the door, and another Shadowhunter sticks his head in. He doesn’t even blink at Raphael and Simon, instead strolling straight up to Morgenstern.

“Sir, we have a bit of a situation,” he says.

Morgenstern frowns. “What kind of situation?”

The Shadowhunter opens his mouth but then stops, looking at Simon and Raphael. “Come with me, sir. I’ll show you.”

“Keep an eye on these two,” Morgenstern says to the other two Shadowhunters in the room. “And let me know when my daughter arrives.”

When, not if. What a bastard. Although, Raphael concedes, glancing at Simon, it would be impossible to keep the Fairchild girl away when her friend’s life is at stake.

Simon is not doing well. Vampires can go a long time without feeding, which Raphael knows from personal experience, but losing this much blood all at once is dangerous, and unless Simon feeds soon, he might not make it. On that same note, Raphael isn’t doing too well himself, either.

The two Shadowhunters are chatting with each other like all this is a normal day’s work for them. It probably is, honestly.

He is not sure how much time passes after Morgenstern leaves, but he can feel himself getting weaker, and he can see that Simon is barely moving anymore.

It is Jace Lightwood who bursts through the door however long later, sword ablaze and eyes hard. He doesn’t even hesitate as the other two Shadowhunters charge at him. And Raphael might have his own personal opinions about the Lightwoods, but even he has to admit that the golden one is a formidable fighter, who manages to dispatch the other Shadowhunters in just minutes.

He also did all of that to save Simon and Raphael, so he can’t be _all_ bad, probably.

Once that’s done, Lightwood runs to Simon’s side, using the seraph blade to cut through the manacles. Raphael forces himself to his feet, groaning internally at the pain, and stumbles over to where they are. Lightwood is offering Simon his wrist to drink from, but Simon is refusing, even though he’s _dying_.

Honestly, the stubbornness of fledglings is not something to laugh at.

Raphael drops to his knees next to Lightwood. Lightwood looks over at him and quickly cuts through Raphael’s manacles as well, freeing his hands. Raphael nods at him, briefly, and rubs at his wrists.

“Simon, don’t be an idiot,” Raphael says, unconsciously using what his brothers refer to as his ‘Big Brother Voice,’ not that they ever listen anymore now that they’re all adults. “Just drink, you idiot. Do you want to _die_?”

Simon, for his part, sends Raphael a glare before accepting Lightwood’s proffered wrist and drinking. Lightwood doesn’t even blink and lets it happen. Raphael monitors this closely, considering how much blood Simon needs and how much of this Lightwood can withstand.

After a few moments, he reaches out and places a firm hand on Simon’s shoulder. With great effort, Simon drops Lightwood’s wrist. He looks a bit better, now, skin not as pale and clammy, and that wound on his neck has finally stopped bleeding. It’ll probably start knitting itself together, soon enough.

Then, of all the strange and outlandish things that could happen, Lightwood offers his other wrist to Raphael.

“I’m fine,” Raphael says.

“Raphael, don’t be an idiot,” Simon says with a cheeky grin, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Lightwood has the audacity to laugh.

Raphael hates them both.

“Besides,” Lightwood says, “it would be terrible for Downworld relations if I were to let you die.”

So, he drinks from Lightwood, just enough to keep himself from passing out. Shadowhunter blood tastes different, sweeter somehow, though he tries not to think too much about that.

“Clary’s looking for you, Simon,” Lightwood says once he’s finished, helping the vampire to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

\---

Morgenstern gets away again, though not without taking significant damage to himself and his followers. The boat explodes in the harbor, and thankfully, there are no losses at all on their side. All in all, Raphael is inclined to call it a win.

And it’s a good thing that he drank from Lightwood, because he’s starting to feel weak again by the time Magnus finds him.

Magnus is drenched in water, and his clothes and hair are a mess. He runs towards Raphael with a look of panic, eyes fixed on the slowly healing wound on his stomach. He looks near-hysterics, and probably would be actually _at_ hysterics if Raphael passed out on him, which is what he would’ve done had he not fed from Lightwood.

Magnus catches him in an embrace, which Raphael returns readily. He feels Magnus’s magic wrap around him and heal his wound.

“Are you alright?” Magnus asks once he pulls back.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Raphael stresses. “What about you? Is everything alright with you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Magnus says with a shrug. “Alexander and I professed our undying love for each other.”

Raphael squints at him. “During a _battle_?”

“When else were we going to do it?”

Raphael just laughs.

So, maybe he _does_ owe Ragnor twenty bucks after all.

\---

The next surprise comes a few days later, when Simon comes barging into Raphael’s room at the Dumort during daytime with Jace Lightwood right on his heels.

“What the actual _fuck_ , Simon,” Raphael says with a glare.

But the fledgling is barely listening, already dragging him and Lightwood through the halls and down the stairs, all the way to the lobby where the front doors remain thrown open.

Simon is vibrating with excitement as he stands in the main entrance of the Dumort under _direct sunlight_ and _doesn’t burn_.

“It has to be what happened on the boat,” Simon says. “Because there’s something special about yours and Clary’s blood, right? Because of what Valentine did?”

Lightwood is just staring, his arms crossed over his chest. “Huh.”

Raphael is just staring as well, and he has yet to put himself into the sunlight, thinking that all this has to be some kind of _fluke_. Maybe he should call Magnus first. Have Magnus confirm that this _isn’t_ a fluke and figure out what’s going on. And confirm that this isn’t some strange dream that Raphael is having, that this is actually _real_.

But he doesn’t get a chance to do any of that. Simon reaches out and grabs his wrist, jerking his hand into the sunlight. Raphael barely gets a chance to process this happening before he’s struck by the realization that the sun isn’t burning him.

Simon is bouncing up and down on his feet and doing a weird little dance with his arms.

“How _cool_ is this?” he exclaims, grinning wide. “Can you believe it’s been _two months_?”

“Sixty years,” Raphael says, quiet, stepping fully into the light. His voice feels like it’s coming from miles and miles away. The sun is warm, warm, warm, against his skin, and he slips off his leather jacket so more of his skin is exposed. “It’s been over sixty years, for me.”

Both Simon and Lightwood stare at him with strange looks on their faces, but Raphael isn’t really paying attention to them. He stands on the doorstep of the Dumort, facing the street. The last time he saw this view from this time of day, he was still fifteen and knew next to nothing about the Downworld.

Under the sunlight, he can see clearly how overgrown the front courtyard is. He can see the cracks along the concrete walkway and he can see how the sun glints off of the iron fence surrounding the hotel. Mundanes walk by the hotel, dressed in summer clothes, holding hands up to block out the glare of the sun.

“Huh,” says Lightwood, breaking the silence. “Somehow, I thought you were older.”

Raphael tries for a scoff, but can’t quite muster it. “Most people do,” he says instead.

“It would be bad if people found out about this, right?” Simon asks. “I mean, not necessarily _this,_ ” he goes on, gesturing at himself under the sunlight. “I mean, people will probably find out sooner or later. But how this happened? I mean, if people found out, wouldn’t that be bad for Jace?”

The Lightwood in question furrows his brow at that. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I need to tell Magnus,” Raphael says. “Other than that, unless you two have people you need to tell, yeah, it might be best to stay quiet about this.”

The three of them share a nod and Raphael goes back to staring at the city under the sun.

It’s so bright he could _cry_.

\---

_**Summer** _

Magnus’s response to the whole thing is to ferry them both away to Los Angeles for a week. Everything’s been quiet on the Valentine Morgenstern front, and while everyone’s still working hard at trying to locate him, things are almost calm, for the time being.

“What about your boyfriend?” Raphael asks as Magnus prepares a portal.

“That’s what cellphones are for,” Magnus responds with a smile. “Besides, Alec is spending time with his family while he’s planning stuff out, so let’s do the same with ours, yes?”

Their family is ecstatic about the Daylighter thing, even though they don’t completely understand it. And it’s things like this that he’s really grateful for, the unconditional acceptance. He wonders if there’s a secret to it, something he can pass on to Simon to help with the fledgling’s situation.

Simon’s been back to his home a few times and pretended to be a mundane in front of his mother. She has yet to learn the truth, though Raphael knows Simon wants her to. Nothing’s quite as simple as that, though. It took Raphael six months, back then. Simon seems to be faring considerably better than he was, but even so, who knows how long this could take?

“Should we be worried?” Miguel asks that evening as they walk out to the shore. They stay in front of the porch. The sun is setting, painting the horizon before them a brilliant red. It’s a beautiful sight, and Raphael didn’t really know how much he missed it until this moment.

“Worried about what?” Raphael says, even though he knows he’s being evasive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Miguel responds, fixing him with a look. “Maybe the crazy genocidal maniac who wants to do crazy genocidal maniac-y things?”

Mario makes a sound in the back of his throat.

“What? It’s _true_. And given everything, I think I’m allowed a certain modicum of concern.”

“Well, don’t be,” Raphael tells him. “We have everything under control.”

Mario frowns. “I thought you said the crazy Shadowhunter guy is missing?”

“Well, I mean, _technically_ , but we have it all under control.”

“Would you even tell us if you didn’t?” Miguel asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Raphael narrows his eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Miguel says, pointedly, “that both you and Magnus don’t tell us a lot of stuff about the Downworld and what those Shadowhunters are up to. All we get are headlines, and rather worrying headlines, mind you. Like, ‘oh, there’s this war going on where people want us dead, but don’t worry and just stay put!’ Or, ‘oh, Magnus is dating one of those Shadowhunters who have a history of wanting us dead, but hey, it’s all cool!’ Or, ‘oh, remember that war we told you we won? Turns out the guy responsible isn’t actually dead but he still wants us dead!’”

Mario coughs delicately. “I mean, he’s not really wrong?”

“We tell you what you need to know,” Raphael says to them, firmly. “Anything we don’t tell you, is for your own safety.”

“Uh-huh. And what difference to our safety does it make if we know more about what’s going on?”

Raphael crosses his own arms, mirroring Miguel. “Well, for one, it’ll stop you from trying to get involved by tracking down Downworlders here.”

“That was one time!”

“Three times,” Mario mutters.

Miguel glares. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the side of us all being a _family_ and not picking fights over ridiculous little things. And,” Mario carries on, barreling over Raphael and Miguel’s protests, “it might help us to know a little more about what’s going on, just so we don’t have to spend so much time worrying. But, _we_ also understand that some things probably really _aren’t_ our business, so _we_ will respect that as well. _Right?_ ”

And Mario is the youngest, yes, but sometimes he’s also the wisest. While Raphael and Miguel often get caught up in their bickering, Mario usually ends up playing moderator and keeping them from taking things too far.

“Fine,” Raphael relents, uncrossing his arms.

“Okay,” Miguel agrees. “But seriously, though, be honest. How worried do we need to be about the crazy genocidal maniac?”

“Not too worried,” Raphael says, which is only a little bit a lie. “After all, we defeated him once before. And now that time has passed and we’ve gotten stronger and have more allies on our side, we’re sure to defeat him again.”

“You sound like Magnus,” Mario says with a grin.

Raphael blinks at this. “Well, you spend over sixty years with someone, and you’re bound to pick up some of their quirks, sooner or later.”

“Wow, has it really been sixty years?” says Miguel. “I’ve gotten so _old_.”

“I’m still three years older than you, don’t forget,” Raphael quips, because he _can_ and he _is_.

Miguel glares. “I think I hate you.”

Raphael says nothing, just walks closer to the ocean and kicks water onto Miguel’s pants. His brother yelps, then kicks water back. Mario laughs at them both, and continues laughing until Raphael and Miguel turn against him, kicking water at him instead of each other.

They stay at it until Magnus shows up on the porch and calls them home for dinner, drying their clothes with magic as they come back inside.

\---

Raphael remembers:

He is ten years old and sitting in the backyard of his home in Zacatecas. It is night out and the moon glows bright, though he still feels the summer heat press on his skin. He left Miguel back upstairs asleep in their shared room and his father is passed out drunk on the couch downstairs.

“ _Mijo_ ,” his mother says, coming up from behind him and taking a seat next to him. “You should be asleep.”

There is a bruise blooming on Raphael’s face, and when he looks at his mother, he sees bruises over her face and arms as well. He scowls at the sight.

“Why did you marry him?” Raphael demands.

His mother sighs, suddenly looking very sad, and he hates himself for putting that look on her face. “I loved him, once,” she tells him honestly, and he’s a little shocked by it. She’s never really answered him, before.

“But not anymore?” he asks as she reaches out to cup his face in her hands. She just shakes her head briefly, not saying anything. Raphael frowns. “Then why don’t we leave? None of us love him and he doesn’t love us, either. You should find someone who loves you and marry them, instead.”

“It’s not that simple, Rapha,” his mother says. She brings him in close and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“But without him, we could be happy,” Raphael protests.

His mother smiles at him, and there are tears welling in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. “Rapha,” she says. “Just having you and your brothers in my life makes me very happy.”

He doesn’t say anything more because he doesn’t want to make her actually cry, but he can’t help but think it anyways.

_But we could have so much more than this_.

\---

Raphael spends the beginning of his eightieth birthday on the back porch. The sun is rising behind somewhere him, and he can feel the beginnings of warmth on his skin. He wonders what his mother would’ve thought of this, had she lived to this day. He imagines taking walks with her during the day like he used to, decades and decades ago.

It’s been four years since she died, and though he doesn’t miss her any less, it doesn’t hurt as much to think about her, and he’s learned how to remember their time together more with happiness that it happened, rather than sorrow that it’s over. Ninety-six years is a long time, a long life, and he’s glad he was able to spend as much of it with her as he did.

Magnus finds him on the porch an hour or so later, when the sun is still on its way up but the sky is more blue than pink.

“Happy birthday,” Magnus says taking a seat in the beach chair next to him.

“Thanks.”

A mischievous grin spreads across Magnus’s face. “Just twenty more years before you’re a hundred, and I can finally throw you that party.”

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” Raphael comments, rolling his eyes.

“Never,” Magnus gasps, affronted. “How could I forget? I’ve been planning it for _years_. So many people are involved. It’s going to be the event of the century!”

“You know what?” Raphael says, sitting up. “I take back my agreement. You hear? From now on, you’re forbidden from throwing birthday parties, or even thinking about throwing birthday parties, and—stop laughing!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be anything too dramatic,” Magnus assures him between laughs. “I know what you like, and don’t like. But it will be something to look forward to. It’s an important birthday, especially for an immortal.”

There are some who don’t consider immortals to be proper adults until they’re at least a century old, so there’s that to look forward to. Other than that, it is significant number, one he never really thought he would reach when he was mundane and one he no longer despairs at reaching as he did during his early days as a vampire.

“What did you do for yours?” he asks Magnus.

“Ragnor, Catarina, and I took a quick trip to Peru.”

“Is this the time you got banned?” He’s heard so many versions of that story throughout the years and still has no idea which is the right one, if he _has_ been told the right one at some point, that is.

Magnus shrugs and smiles, which can be interpreted _many_ different ways, so Raphael doesn’t even try.

“Something simple,” Raphael says instead. “And no dramatics. And I get the final say on the guest list.”

“Of course,” Magnus agrees. He looks out over the ocean, back at the rising sun, then back at Raphael. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere?”

\---

Raphael doesn’t know where they are for the first ten minutes, because Magnus _won’t tell him_. But there are clues. The first is that it’s much later in the day here than back in Los Angeles, so they’re in a different part of the world.

He knows they’re in a rural village by the ocean somewhere. The buildings are mostly modern, but still old and dilapidated in places. They walk through a marketplace and the people there all have dark tanned skin, black hair, and brown eyes.

Raphael can’t understand or identify the language the people are speaking, either, but Magnus speaks to the townspeople with assurance. And this is Raphael’s second clue, because even though Magnus speaks a great number of languages, there is something in his tone that suggests this one is special.

Magnus buys a small basket of plums and eats one as they walk through the rest of the town to see the ocean. This is Raphael’s third clue and he remembers a story Magnus told him and his brothers all those years ago.

The sand on the beach is more of a gray color than back in Los Angeles and there’re many small rocks and shells scattered all over. Magnus leads them towards a large rock, jutting out of and over the beach. It is wide enough that three people could fit under it, though not tall enough for them to fit standing. They climb onto the rock instead of under it, and take a seat at its ledge.

Magnus plucks a plum out of the basket, cleans it with his magic, then bites into it.

“Do you remember that story you told us before Miguel left for college? About Cahya and Angkasa?”

Magnus nods, taking another bite out of the plum.

“Who were they?”

“My parents. Although the ending of the story I told and the actual ending are very different. Mario and the twins were still just kids, though, so the true ending wasn’t really an option. Besides, that’s the happy ending I like to imagine for them, in a world that I wasn’t born in.”

There’s _a lot_ about that statement to unpack, but Raphael ends up fixating on the first thing. “Your _parents_?”

“Not what you were expecting?” Magnus asks, turning to him with a small smile.

Raphael doesn’t know what he was expecting. “I guess not,” he says, then takes a look around them. “And this place, is this where you were born?”

“It is. Although, it’s very different now. Our fruit orchard is gone. Our barn is gone. The village has a different name, and so does the country. Different borders, too. The _language_ has a different name, and has changed a little bit as well.

“But this rock,” Magnus goes on, patting a hand against it. “It’s still here. It was larger when I was a kid, but it’s still _here_. I used to come here as a kid. I’d just sit and watch the ocean, sometimes for hours on end. The other boys didn’t like me because I was weak and scared of everything. My step-father resented that about me, even before he learned what I was. He and my mother would worry about it, wondering how I’d ever find a wife if I was scared of my own shadow. Not exactly a pleasant thing to hear about, at that age. But being here was peaceful, calming. I loved it.”

“Oh,” Raphael says. He tries to imagine it, Magnus being small and a kid. There are things he knows about Magnus’s childhood that makes that particular imagination unpleasant, so he tries to focus on that.

Instead, he thinks of Magnus with his bold smiles and how he can command an entire room with just his body language. He tries to imagine that same man as a small boy scared of everything, and can’t quite make the image fit.

“Do you come back here, often?” he asks instead, tracing a finger against the rock. He thinks about how old it must be to still stand here, all these centuries later. It makes him wonder about what in his old hometown is still there.

Magnus shakes his head. “After I left, I didn’t come back until after the whole mess with Camille. I needed somewhere safe and familiar and this is the first place that came to mind. After that, the next time I came was with your mother, during the world-wide trip we took to celebrate her retirement. It was our last stop.”

Raphael remembers this trip. The two of them had planned it for _years_ leading up to it, carefully choosing places and things to see. There’s a whole photo album somewhere, devoted to the planning of and actual execution of the trip. He didn’t know they came here, though he does know their _first_ stop was to Zacatecas, his hometown.

Raphael brings his knees to his chest and tilts his head to glance at Magnus. “Why are we here?”

“Because I wanted to show you this,” Magnus says immediately, as if having anticipated the question. “I wanted you to know this about me. I know there’s a lot about the past you still don’t know. London, for instance, both the good parts with Tessa and her boys, and the bad parts with Camille. And maybe one day, we’ll get around to telling all those stories, because there _are_ some really good stories in there, amidst all the bad. Funny, too, considering all the Lightwoods and Herondales involved.

“And this, too, this place and its history for me, is not something I talk much about. Mostly because it’s hard for me, but also because there aren’t that many people that I would trust with this. But I wanted you to know. And so.”

They are quiet for a long time, looking straight ahead at the ocean. The waves rise and crash against the shore and the sun is inching downwards, now. The day is done, here, even though it just began in Los Angeles.

“Thank you,” he says. “For showing this to me.”

“Of course, Rapha,” Magnus says. “Thank you for letting me.”

They sit and watch the sun go down, then Magnus collects the basket of plums and portals them home.

\---

The day before they head back to New York, Magnus and Raphael go for a drive in a red convertible Magnus magics out of nowhere.

Or rather, Magnus drives the scenic route around the city, ending with a stretch of highway along the ocean, while Raphael sits in the passenger seat with his feet on the dash, talking about the fact that he’s sitting in the passenger seat.

“I crashed the car into the tree _one time_ , Magnus,” Raphael says, leaning against the open window of the red convertible. As they speed down the highway, the wind whizzes by and tousles their hair. He can smell the salt of the ocean in the air and the sun beats down warm on his skin. “ _Literally_ only one time. Not like how Miguel will _say_ he only did something once but actually did it multiple times. Also, that time turned out just fine, in the end. Miguel just overreacted.”

Ever since the time with the tree, Miguel is far less than willing to ever let Raphael into his car again. Not even as a passenger, because he’s a little brat. Which is why they’re in the convertible rather than his brother’s car.

Magnus just raises his eyebrows at him. “Be nice to your brother,” Magnus says, because he thinks he’s funny and that they’re all still little kids. “And get your feet off the dash. It’s dangerous.”

“You’re not funny,” Raphael tells him resolutely, but gets his feet off the dash regardless.

“No, I’m hilarious,” Magnus amends. “Everyone thinks so. My Alexander, for one, loves my sense of humor.”

Raphael fakes a gag, because that’s just his way. “So, what, I never get to be in the driver’s seat again?”

Magnus hums, “Maybe when they invent self-driving cars.”

“Not. Funny.”

“You don’t even need to know how to drive,” Magnus goes on. “We live in New York, most of the time.”

“That’s not the _point_.”

“Maybe we can do a road trip, when this is all over. The four of us,” Magnus suggests. “You could drive then, if Miguel can get over his fear of you in cars.”

It’s a good suggestion, and something they wouldn’t have been able to do before. But there are so many more things they can do, now that Raphael is a Daylighter. He just wishes that his mother was still alive to see this.

“A road trip sounds nice,” Raphael says. “Are you going to bring your boyfriend?”

Magnus lets out a soft laugh. “Now, there’s a thought.”

It’s not exactly an answer. Raphael thinks about it, then asks, very seriously, “Does Lightwood know about all this?”

He doesn’t specify, but there’s no need for it. Magnus’s hands tighten minutely around the steering wheel and his eyes are fixed straight ahead. The sunflower ring is still there, hasn’t left since he put it on all those decades ago when Miguel first brought them home. But Raphael can’t help but wonder what will happen in the future, even though he knows that his mother and Magnus weren’t like _that_ , no matter how much Mario wishes they were.

“Not yet,” is what Magnus says. And ‘not yet’ implies the presence of an ‘eventually,’ so that’s interesting.

“I see.”

“You should know that I don’t take _any_ of this lightly, not our family and not my relationship with Alec,” Magnus says, serious. He turns to look Raphael straight in the eye, his magic the only thing keeping the car driving smoothly. “I’ll only tell Alec and introduce him to everyone when I’m a _thousand_ -percent sure and ready, and not a moment before. And I’m not there, yet. So, for now, Alec doesn’t know. I think I want him to know, but now’s not the time for that, yet.”

“That’s fair,” Raphael concedes. “Although, Miguel and Mario really want to meet him.”

Magnus laughs. “Believe me. I’ve been getting _a lot_ of calls, _just_ about that.”

“They’re going to full-on interrogate him, you know?”

According to Miguel, he and Mario already have a whole list of questions to ask Lightwood. They’re still adding to it and their _kids_ are helping. Raphael imagines Lightwood sitting in the kitchen in the Los Angeles house, surrounded by Miguel and Mario and whoever else chooses to be present for that confrontation. He can feel the awkwardness radiating off of the moment, even in his imagination.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Magnus says with a grin.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually might feel bad for your boyfriend.”

Raphael shifts around in his seat and leans his arms flat against the window ledge. He rests his chin against his arms and angles his head forward a little. He basks in the wind and sun of the late Californian summer.

New York and all its troubles seem far, far away, and he lets himself live in this moment of not having to worry about an old war reemerging or fledglings and their family problems or annoying Shadowhunter boyfriends.

Magnus turns the radio on and starts singing along, horribly off-key.

\---

By the time they get back to New York, Alec Lightwood has put together the plans for an entire Downworlder Cabinet, with weekly meetings and formal discussions and all that.

Raphael walks into the first one of these meetings apprehensive, remembering the first Accords meeting after the Uprising and how well _that_ had gone. But he also thinks there’s some sort of funny irony to the fact that both Magnus and Lightwood are the type of people who try to put together spaces for Downworlders and Shadowhunters to fight towards peace.

Magnus seems excited about the whole thing, but he’s hardly unbiased. He and Lightwood spend the minutes waiting for everyone else to arrive smiling and making eyes at each other while they chat.

They’re already in the meeting room when Raphael arrives, and he spends a while lingering in the doorway unseen. He wonders whether it’s worth annoying Lightwood to just walk in and cut off their conversation. Lightwood doesn’t like him and is wary of him, which Raphael is completely fine with. He doesn’t like Lightwood much, either.

(Magnus with a blade through his chest. Still that. Still, always, _that_.)

But Magnus is smiling wide and his eyes are lit up in a way Raphael hasn’t seen in a long time. So, he lingers just beyond the door and waits for the werewolf and Seelie to arrive before doing anything else.

Lucian Greymark—or Luke Garroway, as he’s going by these days—is the next to arrive, and Garroway doesn’t like Raphael either. There is, of course, the whole ‘werewolves and vampires are mortal enemies’ thing, but he also knows that the fact that he looks fifteen is unnerving for many people, which is something he’s learned to use to his advantage. It is somewhat irritating, however, when he’s dealing with people who are supposed to be allies.

Much more importantly, however, is that the wolf seems to blame Raphael for Simon being turned. It’s a fair enough accusation, so Raphael can’t do much to protest it. He wasn’t the one to kill Simon, but he was the one to turn him. And Simon only got killed as a result of Raphael’s own failure to keep the rogue vampires of the city under control.

He remembers carrying Simon’s dead body to the Institute, thinking thoughts he hasn’t really thought about in _years_. He remembers the sheer horror and fear on Garroway’s face more than _anything_ else, even Fairchild’s desperate cries as she begged Raphael to save Simon.

Raphael is beginning to suspect that Garroway is to Simon what Magnus is to him. It’s the only reason he lets the werewolf into the Dumort as often as he does and tries very hard to not protest his presence, at least not in front of Simon.

But Simon is not here, right now.

“Santiago,” the wolf says with a frown, coming to a careful stop. His eyes are narrowed and his defenses are up, and Raphael vaguely wonders how they’re going to get anything done when half of them don’t even like each other.

“Greymark,” Raphael shoots back, just to see.

“Garroway,” the wolf corrects immediately and flinches. He looks almost angry at the mention of his old name, not at Raphael, but at himself.

_Names are reminders_ , Magnus said once while they sat on the balcony of the Brooklyn loft. _Names are a lot of things, but a reminder is an important one, for it carries the history of the name. That’s why so many warlocks end up changing theirs, because they no longer wish to be associated with that history._

With the name Lucian Greymark, Raphael remembers a young man standing beside Morgenstern, hanging on to his every word. He remembers a young man who killed whenever his _parabatai_ commanded it, and he remembers that young man as being among those who’d stormed the Dumort, driving him and his vampires out.

He remembers that Greymark specifically killed exactly three of his vampires. _Tasha. Marcus. Erin._

Changing a name does _nothing_ to erase that history.

But, as loathe as he is to admit it, the wolf and Jocelyn Fairchild’s betrayal of Morgenstern had been crucial to their victory of the Uprising back then. Without them, who knows how many more would’ve died and how much longer the Uprising would’ve dragged on?

“Fine,” Raphael says with a stiff nod.

Garroway nods back, just as stiff. “Good.”

“Are we not supposed to go in, yet?” Garroway asks, moving to peer into the room.

There’s a certain excitement to him as well, though like Magnus, the wolf is also biased, with his strong love for both of the Fairchilds, and the fact that he used to be a Shadowhunter himself.

Raphael looks into the room as well. Magnus and Lightwood are still talking, standing closer now. They’re behind the large circular table, one hand each on the surface and fingers interlocked. Their heads are tilted towards each other, and it’s much more of a private moment now than it was when Raphael first arrived.

And, yes, Raphael can see that Magnus loves Lightwood, that this isn’t just some silly thing done out of boredom. _I don’t take any of this lightly_ , Magnus had said, and Raphael can now see the truth of that right in front of him. He doesn’t have to like it, but he can’t go on denying that it’s real.

And he can see that Lightwood loves Magnus back, which is just as important, if not more. He might not know much about London, but he knows that Belcourt never loved Magnus, had just kept him around as an interesting plaything and _literally_ threw him away into the Thames when she got bored.

_She loved sharing him with us_ , Tomas said once while drunk on plasma. That’d been all he said, but Raphael could read all the implications of it. Lily had been the one to stop him from flat-out killing Tomas and Belcourt and every other single vampire who’d been there in London.

If Lightwood ever pulls anything like that, Raphael is going to fucking murder him, the Clave and the Accords be damned. Ragnor, Tessa, and Lily would probably even be willing to help him.

But right now, Lightwood is gazing at Magnus softly, like Magnus is the single most important thing in his whole world. It’s a look that Raphael has seen his brothers give to their wives, and isn’t _that_ an interesting thought.

“Let’s wait for Meliorn,” Raphael says softly.

Garroway blinks at him, surprised. But then he nods at him with something like approval, like Raphael’s passed a test of some kind.

Raphael would very much like to remind the werewolf that he is _at the very least_ three decades older than him. But pulling that card with his brothers is one thing. Doing it now would be more counterproductive than anything. So, he grits his teeth and resumes his waiting.

\---

The first Downworld Cabinet meeting goes surprisingly well, despite Meliorn’s accusations of biases and overdramatic early departure.

“Meliorn’s decision is not final,” Magnus says once the Seelie is gone and Lightwood is wringing his hands. “He has to obey the Queen, and I have it on good authority that she wants this alliance to work. Of course, we should be wary of her motives, but for now, I think the Cabinet is secure.”

He smiles a little at Lightwood as he says this last part and Lightwood smiles back, looking relieved. They link their hands together and squeeze, sharing a moment. Raphael and Garroway raise their eyebrows at each other, sharing a look.

“Alright then,” Lightwood says, clasping his hands together and leaning his forearms on the table. “Let’s try this again. This Downworld Cabinet will serve two purposes. One, finding and stopping Valentine Morgenstern, and all those affiliated with him. Two, bringing up and resolving any issues between the Shadowhunters and the New York Downworld, as well as any problems within the Downworld that you would like to bring up. Any questions?”

“Where are we with locating Morgenstern?” Raphael asks.

“We have Shadowhunters all over the world keeping an eye out,” Lightwood says. “No leads as of yet, but we’re confident that we’ll find him soon. Our team here is also working to locate the remaining Mortal Instruments.”

“I’ve gotten a few of my contacts at the Spiral Labyrinth to agree to assist as well,” Magnus adds.

Raphael wonders if he should be worried about that. He knows that Magnus has considerably more than just a few contacts at the Spiral Labyrinth. Whether this paltry response is a response to Magnus dating a Shadowhunter or just an unwillingness to have anything to do with Morgenstern remains to be seen.

“He won’t reappear just anywhere,” Garroway says with a frown. “Whatever he has planned, he’ll choose somewhere _meaningful_ to do it.”

Lightwood nods. “We’ll be sure to keep that in mind. “Now, is there anything else?”

\---

Raphael steps out of the portal Magnus makes for him and into the common area of the second top-most floor in the Dumort. Lily, Elliott, and Simon are gathered on the couches, and the fledgling looks distraught while the other two vampires are trying to comfort him. Elliott is saying something about his time in Florida while gesticulating wildly with his hands, though it doesn’t seem like Simon is listening.

“How’d it go?” Lily asks, stepping away from the couches to greet him.

“It went fine. Still no word on Morgenstern, though there are a lot of people looking for him. Surprisingly enough, this Cabinet might turn out to be a good idea, in the end. Other than, that, the werewolf and I avoided a fight, the Seelie stormed out early, and Magnus and the Shadowhunter are still disgustingly in love,” Raphael responds, then glances at Simon. “What’s going on here? Did something happen?”

Simon looks up, and there are dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

“I, um, went home, earlier today,” Simon says, voice shaking, looking like he might start crying again. “I saw my mom. She still doesn’t know anything, but I think she’s beginning to suspect that something’s going on. But I can’t _tell_ her, I don’t know _how_ to tell her. I…”

He trails off and bites at his lip, casting his gaze back to the floor.

Lily and Elliott turn to Raphael, somewhat expectantly.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. He knows he’s trying to do for Simon what Magnus once did for him, but Raphael doesn’t know _how_ to do that. Magnus is the wise one, the one who has a way of saying exactly what needs to be said in a moment. Now, it just feels like Raphael is making things up as he goes along.

He wants to call Magnus and ask for his advice, and he knows that Magnus would help him the moment he asks. But he also feels that this is something he needs to do on his own. He’s eighty years old, now, no longer a scared and angry teenager. He’s an _adult_ , no matter what anyone might say about immortals and their hundredth birthdays.

Eighty is far too old to still be running to Magnus with all his problems. And there’s a part of him that wants to _prove_ himself to Magnus, do something to make Magnus proud of him.

Raphael drops down onto the couch across from Simon. A Star of David lies abandoned on the oak table between them, and Raphael can see fresh burn marks on Simon’s hands. They are similar in some respects, Raphael thinks, and maybe that will count for something.

“Do you _want_ her to know the truth?” he asks.

Simon sniffles, looks up, and nods, slowly. “I think so. I mean, better that than lying to her, right? I mean, even with the Daylighter thing, she’s going to realize something’s going on when I don’t get any older, right?”

“Right,” Raphael agrees, nodding. He touches the cross in his pocket and gathers his thoughts. “You can’t force yourself to tell her before you’re actually ready. And it can take a long time to _be_ ready.” He pauses, then hesitantly adds on, “It took me six months, to be ready.”

“That’s,” Simon says. “That’s a long time.”

Raphael just shrugs. “That’s what it took for me. But you’re not me. Maybe it’ll take you longer, but maybe you’ll be ready sooner. You won’t know until it happens. And I get that that sucks, but sometimes the way that sucks also happens to be the best option. You’ll just have to patient, and give yourself time.”

Simon listens to all of this intently and stares at Raphael with wide eyes. “What if I’m never ready?”

“You will be, it’ll just take time,” Raphael promises. He remembers that winter in 1953, standing on his mother’s doorstep with Magnus behind him, a steady, comforting presence, even then. “That’s not to say that you won’t be nervous or anything like that, but one day, it’ll just feel right.”

“Okay,” Simon says, then lets out a broken laugh. “Okay, I’ll just waiting, then, I guess.”

“Sometimes,” Raphael says, “that’s the best thing you can do.”

\---

They get word on Morgenstern’s location during the next Cabinet meeting, from the most unexpected source.

Raphael, Magnus, Lightwood, and Garroway are all seated around the round table waiting for Meliorn to arrive. The Seelie is also already five minutes late, which is concerning, especially since he sent word that he _would_ , in fact, be present at the meeting.

“How pissed do you think he would be if we started without him?” Lightwood asks, looking at the doors.

“Very,” Magnus answers, examining his nails. “Let’s do it anyway.”

“ _Magnus_ ,” Lightwood says fondly with a bemused smile.

Magnus smiles back at him.

They don’t get much further than that before the doors swing open, the Seelie Queen walking in with Meliorn and another Seelie following close behind.

The Queen is in her preferred form, that of a very young girl, and she wears a crown of flowers on her head. The fabric of her dress swishes around as she takes a seat at the last remaining seat.

The other two Seelies stand right behind her, gripping their spears and facing forward.

“Your Majesty,” Magnus greets politely, inclining his head. Raphael and the others follow suit. “To what do we owe this honor?”

“I have information that might be of interest to you,” the Queen says, accent crisp. She regards each of them with impassive eyes. “Valentine Morgenstern will march on Idris in seven days.”

Lightwood’s eyes go wide and Magnus blinks at her.

“What,” says Raphael.

“How do you know this?” demands Garroway.

The Seelie Queen levels a steady gaze at him. “That is not for you to know, werewolf. I have decided to provide you with this information in accordance with this new…alliance. What you do with that information is for you to decide. Farewell.”

She stands from her chair and makes for the door, the other two Seelies immediately following after her.

“Well,” Magnus says after the Seelies are gone. “At least now we know where to look for him. I suppose we should all head on over to Idris, then.”

Seven days. They have seven days.

\---

Raphael calls Miguel and Mario before the leave for Idris, because otherwise Miguel will get angry with him and they’ll have a fight they’ve had many times before and Raphael would much rather avoid that headache.

“Just to clarify,” Miguel says over the phone, “the current plan is that you and Magnus and everyone else are going to go to the Shadowhunters’ secret base to confront the crazy genocidal maniac and his army and stop whatever insane plot they have going on.”

“I wouldn’t call Idris their ‘secret base’,” Raphael says.

“ _That’s_ the part you’re choosing to comment on?”

“That’s the part I’m choosing to comment on.”

Miguel swears under his breath and Raphael can hear a shuffle as Mario takes the phone.

“You’ll both be careful, right?” Mario asks worriedly.

“Of course, we will,” Raphael says. “I’ll call you when we get back, alright?”

“Fine,” both of his brothers say, though neither sounds particularly happy about it.

Raphael doesn’t blame them. No one here is particularly happy with the situation, either.

\---

**_Seven_ **

On the first day, Magnus and a group of warlocks from the city portal everyone over to Idris. This ‘everyone’ includes all members of the New York vampire clan and werewolf pack who are of fighting age, over half of the Shadowhunters in the Institute, and most of the warlocks in New York.

When they arrive at the Institute in Idris, they are greeted by Maryse and Robert Lightwood, alongside their youngest son. Raphael doesn’t know what the relationship has been between the Lightwood trio and their parents since the failed wedding. But from the glares the Lightwood parents give to Magnus and his boyfriend and the way that the trio barely even acknowledge their parents before turning their attention to their brother, Raphael’s going to assume that their relationship is not going well.

Raphael wonders what Maryse Lightwood remembers about Magnus. A blade through Magnus’s chest, one of the scariest nights of Raphael’s life. Does she even remember that night specifically? Or was it just a typical encounter for her?

They settle into the Institute that night, war looming over their heads.

\---

On the second day, Raphael and Magnus go to see Ragnor, who still has his house in Idris that he kept from his time teaching at the Shadowhunter Academy.

“Catarina and I got fire messages from him just yesterday,” Magnus says as they walk over. “He mentioned having something to help with waking up Jocelyn, but I don’t know. Something seemed off.”

“Off how?” Raphael asks with a frown.

“I don’t know,” Magnus says, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair, grabbing tight at the ends. “He just sounded _different_ , somehow. I can’t describe it, but I just have the feeling that something is _wrong_.”

By the time they arrive in front of Ragnor’s house, Raphael gets what Magnus means. Something _is_ off. It’s far too quiet, and even Raphael’s enhanced hearing can’t detect anything. The windows of the tall house are dark, all the curtains drawn tightly shut.

“The wards are down,” Magnus mutters under his breath as they approach.

The ground crunches under their feet, startling loud amidst all the silence. They pause before the front door, staring first at the door then at each other.

Tentatively, Magnus reaches a hand out and knocks.

They wait a minute, and when there’s no answer, Magnus waves his fingers over the doorknob and the door swings open.

Inside, the house is completely dark, lit only by the sunlight that streams through the doorway. Something feels very, very wrong as they walk through the house. If it was silent outside, then it’s as if no sound even exists inside. There’s no movement and nothing to indicate that Ragnor was ever even there.

Raphael and Magnus finish walking through the first floor, then silently make their way up the stairs to explore the second.

That’s when they find it.

There is, in the center of Ragnor’s study, a large hulking carcass of a demon. It’s oozing black goo that has nearly completely covered the carpeted floor and its long claws lay broken by its side. There are impact wounds littered all over the demon’s body, some long and looking like they were made by blades and others large and blistering, like they were made by magic.

The stench of the demon permeates throughout the whole room, and it must be some kind of demon magic that kept Raphael and Magnus from smelling it when they were downstairs.

The entire study is in shambles. Book and papers are scattered all over, torn and burnt and covered in the black goo. The windows are shattered, glass lining the floor just beneath, and a soft wind blows through, rustling the curtains.

Magnus is silent, staring at the room in an open shock that Raphael very much feels as well, in the moment.

Raphael thinks he sees something under the demon’s carcass. Something resembling a hand, something green. He walks towards it, carefully, slowly.

He feels the moment that something _shifts_ in the room.

Suddenly, everything feels too tight, and there’s a buzz of electricity, a tingling under his skin.

He hears Magnus call out his name, feels Magnus grab his arm and yank him back, wrapping his arms around him protectively, feels the flare of Magnus’s magic.

There’s a blinding light that still hurts his eyes even when they’re closed, the sound of a large explosion following in quick succession.

Then, he feels nothing.

\---

Raphael wakes up in the infirmary of the Institute and it is dark outside. For a moment, he is confused, not sure what is going on beyond a strange fuzziness in his head.

He blinks groggily into awareness, and suddenly the memories come flooding back. He jerks upright in the bed and glances wildly around.

Magnus lies asleep a few beds to Raphael’s right. There is a faint sheen of blue hovering over him. Not his magic, but that of Catarina Loss, who is asleep in a chair beside Magnus’s bed. Lightwood is in a chair next to Loss, also asleep with his head on the bed and hand tightly grasping Magnus’s.

“You’re awake.”

Raphael turns and finds Lily sitting on his left, looking at him with scared and worried eyes. Silently, but insistent, she hands him a flask of blood. Raphael drinks from it for a long moment, then sets it down on the small table next to the bed.

“Thanks,” he croaks out.

Lily nods at him, still looking worried.

“What happened?” he asks, clearing out his throat, forcing his voice to be steady.

“What do you remember?” Lily asks, voice coated with concern.

“Magnus and I went to Ragnor’s house,” Raphael says as his head clears. “There was a dead demon. Then an explosion, I think. After that, I don’t remember.”

“There _was_ an explosion,” Lily confirms, hands clenched into fists in her lap. “They still haven’t figured out what caused it, but it was probably a trap put there by whoever left the demon. It originated from Fell’s house, but it ended up taking out the whole street. Loss and Magnus’s boyfriend are the ones who found the two of you. You were both unconscious, by then, but Magnus’s magic kept both of you from any serious harm.”

Raphael twists his neck around to stare at Magnus’s sleeping form, then turns back to Lily. “How is he?”

Lily shakes her head. “He hasn’t woken up yet. But Loss says that he’ll be fine, and she _is_ an expert on healing magic.”

Raphael nods and almost doesn’t dare to ask his next question. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, and really, _really_ doesn’t want to hear it. But when he looks it Lily, it seems like she’s biting back words, like she’s waiting for him to ask the question so she can speak those words. And he could try ignoring it, but that just would never work, not for long.

“And Ragnor?” Raphael asks, forcing himself to stare straight ahead rather than at Lily.

“I’m sorry,” Lily says in a rush. “He’s dead. All the other warlocks confirmed it.”

When he says nothing else for the next few minutes, she slowly stands, reaching out to give his hand a quick squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, then quietly slips out of the room, leaving him alone to process and grieve. He appreciates this, that she knows him and what he needs, even if he can’t make himself say it aloud before she’s gone. 

Beside him, Magnus sleeps on.

\---

On the third day…

Well, Raphael doesn’t do very much, on the third day.

At some point, once the infirmary is clear of everyone besides the two of them, Magnus comes over to his bedside and presses a kiss to the top of his head, just like Raphael’s mother used to do.

\---

On the fourth day, the Shadowhunters find Max Lightwood in one of the rooms of the Institute with his head bashed in.

He is just a small slip of a boy, not even old enough to be a part of this war, and he’s long dead by the time his family gets to him, all in hysterics and tears, united together for the first time since the disaster of a wedding.

Sebastian Verlac, or whoever it was that was posing as Verlac, is missing and everyone suspects him for the murder.

The Shadowhunters are thrown into a state of chaos and anger, trying to track down the fake Verlac. The Downworlders all give them a wide berth, leaving them room to rage and mourn in whatever way they see fit.

Raphael checks in with Lily, Elliott, and Simon, then wanders out into the woods behind the Institute, soaking in the quiet. He stumbles upon a small clearing and sits down on a fallen tree trunk.

The canopy in the woods is thick, barely letting in any sunlight. By contrast, the clearing is incredibly bright, light reflecting off of the pale dirt. He hears the chirping of birds and the sound of the forest animals all around him. Above him, the sky is clear and blue, horribly pleasant considering all the death that’s occurred in the past few days.

He thinks of monthly meetings in the Shadow Market and walking beside Ragnor along the Thames. He wonders if Tessa knows, yet, if there’s some way to get word to her of what’s going on.

Magnus finds him some hours later, when the sky has turned a bright shade of orange, and quietly sits beside Raphael on the tree trunk. He bumps their shoulders together, gently, and Raphael feels something inside of him relax, just a little.

“How’s Lightwood?” Raphael asks, because he remembers what it was like to lose his brothers.

“Not good,” Magnus says with a weary sigh. “They’re holding a vigil. Shadowhunters only. Alec nearly started a fight with his parents over that, but I told him it’s not worth it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Magnus sighs again. He plants his palms behind him and leans back, stretching out his legs. “How are you, Rapha?”

“Fine,” Raphael says, even though he’s not. “How are you?”

Magnus is silent for a long time, so long that Raphael thinks he might not even answer. The sounds of the forest start to change around them as the day animals go to sleep and the night ones wake up.

“Of all the people in the world,” Magnus begins, staring at a small puddle near the edge of the clearing, “he is the one who has known me the longest. The one who has loved me the longest. All of these _centuries_ , and I just—This whole year has been, I…”

He trails off and makes a sound of frustration, rubbing his hands over his face and smudging his makeup.

Magnus has been alive for over four centuries, and Ragnor even longer than that, and Raphael can barely even begin to comprehend that.

Centuries, for Magnus and Ragnor and Tessa and Loss.

Only decades, for Raphael.

He can’t help but feel so small against all of that, despite everything. Sure, he’s the oldest of his brothers, but being thirteen years older than Mario feels so insignificant when he considers the centuries that separates him from his warlock friends.

And perhaps that’s why immortals feel so strongly about turning one hundred, because it’s a transition from decades into centuries. It’s seeing an entire generation rise and fall, and being the only one left at the end of that.

All of those shared centuries, lifetimes experienced before Raphael was even born. And Raphael has only been alive for eight decades, only been around all of them for a measly six. What is he, compared to all of that?

As if reading his mind, Magnus turns to him with a small smile. He reaches a hand out and cups Raphael’s cheek, running the pad of his thumb under his eye.

“I love you,” Magnus murmurs. “Whatever happens, never forget that.”

Raphael closes his eyes. “I love you, too.”

They aren’t words that they say often, even after all this time. Raphael always knows them to be true, regardless.

\---

On the fifth day, Simon gets kidnapped by Seelies. The whole ordeal is actually less dramatic than it sounds.

Simon is gone for three hours, and Raphael, Magnus, and Clary Fray track him down to some hidden corner of the woods. The others are still grieving over Max, so they don’t get them involved.

Simon is alone when they find him, a little dazed, though appearing completely unharmed.

Fray tackles him to the ground and hugs him tightly and sobs against his chest, refusing to let him go for a while. Simon just hugs her back, and maybe Raphael is just imagining it and he’s definitely not the right person to judge, but the expression on Simon’s face is a bit less like he’s hugging his crush and a bit more like he’s hugging a friend.

"They put something on my forehead,” Simon says once Fray lets him go, pulling them both to their feet.

The three of them peer at Simon’s forehead and Magnus frowns, running his magic over it. His frown only deepens, after he does that.

“If there _is_ something there,” Magnus says, “then it can’t be detected by magic. Otherwise, I’d say that you’re fine. Let me know if anything changes, though.”

“Hey, that’s good,” Simon says with a grin, rubbing his forehead. “That was super weird, though. They spent a lot of time just monologuing.”

Magnus nods sagely. “Seelies will do that. Come on, let’s head back.”

\---

On the sixth day, Jocelyn Fairchild wakes up, shares a rather public and loud and tear-filled reunion with Luke Garroway, stares at Simon with shock for a bit before wrapping him up in a hug, and easily clears up the whole situation between her daughter and Jace Lightwood.

Not siblings, then.

There’s an odd sort of hilarity to the whole situation as the two young Shadowhunters stare at each other, the new realization settling in. Simon laughs at this, and his happiness for them seems completely genuine, so maybe he is really over Fray.

There are several other important realizations this day as well, such as the fake Verlac, who is still missing and everyone has just chosen to refer to as Sebastian, is Fray’s actual brother, and that Jace Lightwood is actually a Herondale.

“That makes Tessa his great-great-great-something grandmother, right?” Raphael asks Magnus later as they go for a brief walk around the perimeter of the Institute.

“Something like that,” says Magnus who looks rather amused by the whole situation. “Or probably his great-great-something aunt. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I’ve always thought his attitude reminded me a little of Will, even if Alexander is the one who looks just like him. Now, I can officially say that all of London has made its way over to New York.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Raphael asks.

Magnus blinks and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Do you mean,” he begins slowly and unsure, “tell Jace about Tessa, or tell Alexander about Will?”

Raphael meant the first one, hadn’t even thought about the second. But he grows curious when Magnus brings it up. “I don’t know. Either. Both.”

“It’s not my place to tell Jace about Tessa,” Magnus says eventually. “I’ll leave that decision up to her. But I think I will tell Alec about Will. People have already started talking and I don’t want him to hear about it from someone else and get the wrong idea. I owe him that much. Besides, it’s a good story. Most of it, anyway.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” Raphael suggests lightly, even though he still knows very little about London. “Maybe you’re just stuck dealing with different generations of Lightwoods and Herondales and Fairchilds and whoever else for the rest of your life.”

Magnus laughs. They’ve completed a whole loop of the Institute now. They’re approaching the entrance, where the Lightwood trio plus Fray and Simon are gathered, engaged in conversation. Lightwood looks up as they draw closer though, as if sensing Magnus’s presence.

Magnus looks at all of them with fondness, making eye contact with Lightwood, who grins and waves at him. “I don’t think I would mind all that much,” Magnus says, waving back, “if that were really the case.”

\---

On the seventh day, the day that Morgenstern and his army are set to arrive according to the Seelies, Clary Fray creates a rune.

The Alliance rune, she calls it. And it can be drawn on Downworlders, meant to unite their powers with a Shadowhunter.

Raphael is dubious about the whole thing, and he’s not the only one. In fact, none of the Downworlders seem too happy about the idea. Sure, it’s all fine and helpful if it actually _works_ , but the rune will end up _killing_ a Downworlder if it _doesn’t_. And no one wants to be the one to test that out.

Well, almost no one.

Jocelyn Fairchild and Luke Garroway stand before everyone in the main hall of the Institute, Fray and Simon standing just behind them with wide grins. Fairchild takes out her _stele_ and hands it to Garroway, who takes her hand and confidently draws the rune that Fray shows him on Fairchild’s arm. Once the black lines have settled on Fairchild’s skin, the werewolf hands it back to her. Then, with equal confidence, she takes his hand draws the same rune on Garroway’s skin, and everyone stares in amazement when it doesn’t burn.

“There,” says Fairchild, smiling softly at Garroway, still holding onto his hand. “Done.”

“Yes,” Garroway says with a soft smile of his own. “Just like old times.”

They share a long, long look, in which it looks like both of them are close to tears. They seem to have gone oblivious to everyone else in the room around them, lost in a private moment, caught between the past and present.

The moment ends, and they turn to face Simon and Fray who are still beaming at them, looking close to tears themselves.

And it’s not the same thing, but Raphael can’t help but remember Mario at eight, wishing for their mother and Magnus to get married. That was the first, but not the only, time he asked. The times he brought it up got fewer and fewer as time went on, then stopped entirely once he turned fifteen.

But it reminds Raphael of Simon telling him about Garroway and Fairchild once, how they always acted like they should be a couple, and yet never got together.

But now, Garroway and Fairchild are looking at each other with adoration and love—of the romantic sort, the kind never present between his mother and Magnus—and they look at their children with tenderness and love, as well.

The four wrap themselves up in a tight, family hug.

\---

Not too many Downworlders actually end up taking the rune. Raphael, for instance, does not, neither does Elliott. Lily does, though, with Isabelle Lightwood of all people. Raphael tries very hard not to fuss about this, because Lily is decades older than him and Isabelle is one of the two Lightwoods that he actually doesn’t have a problem with.

Magnus and his Lightwood take the rune as well, which surprises no one, same with Simon and Fray. Raphael fusses a bit about the last one, because Simon is just a fledgling and Fray has only been training as a Shadowhunter for a handful of very short months.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just be staying on the sidelines,” Simon assures him with a bright grin. “We’ve already been told by all the Shadowhunters, as well as Luke and Jocelyn, that neither of us are allowed to wander from the Institute.”

“Yes, because the two of you are so _wonderful_ at doing what you’re told,” Raphael remarks, crossing his arms.

Simon and Fray look away from him, sharing a sheepish look with each other. Nonetheless, their matching Alliance runes shine bright on their forearms.

Around them, Downworlders and Shadowhunters get ready for battle, side by side, and isn’t that just a sight to behold?

Magnus and Lightwood are standing nearby, giving each other tight, worried smiles as they help each other get ready. Magnus readjusts the holster of Lightwood’s blade, straightens out the strap of his quiver. Lightwood fusses with the collar of Magnus’s long jacket and presses a kiss to his lips, even though his parents are in plain view and look on with disgust.

Neither Magnus nor Lightwood pay them any mind.

Jace whistles at them and Magnus gives him the finger, all the while not pulling away from his boyfriend.

There is a true sense of alliance amongst them all, not just limited to the aptly named rune. If they all live through this, then maybe there’s a chance of that true peace that Magnus talks about.

“Be careful,” Magnus says to him before it all starts, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“You, too,” Raphael says, hugging back.

At dusk, Morgenstern and his army descend upon the city. They bring with them a small brigade of lesser demons summoned straight from Edom.

And so, it begins.

\---

It’s a hateful thing, but there’s a certain familiarity to war.

As Raphael leads his vampires against a hoard of demons, he remembers the long and dark nights of the Uprising, the unending violence, and mind-numbing exhaustion. But they didn’t stop fighting then, and they don’t stop fighting now.

They cut through the demons with bare fists and bared fangs, putting their enhanced speed and strength to full use.

He is barely aware of the rest of the battle going on around him, only having enough attention for the demons and Morgenstern’s Shadowhunters immediately surrounding him. He snaps their bones and rips into their necks, spitting out the foul blood and moving onto the next enemy.

Around him, his vampires do the same.

There’s a brutal efficiency to all of it, helped by all their allies, both old and new.

He sees flashes of magic from the warlocks and few Seelies who chose to join them. There are werewolves weaving through the masses, growling and claws extended. And there are Shadowhunters, too, seraph blades glowing and swinging without mercy, even as they take on their own kind.

Raphael loses track of time, lost to the rhythm of the battlefield around him. The distraction is good, otherwise his mind will go to what happened during the Uprising.

He only slows down when the hoard around him thins. There are dead bodies lying all over the ground and he is covered in blood—his own, Shadowhunter, and demon blood alike. But when he looks around, the only people still standing are his vampires and their allies.

Of course, they’re only in one section of the battle. Some distance away, the others continue to fight, though it looks like they are winning as well.

Raphael moves through their area, checking on his vampires. He’s doing a headcount, seeing who’s still standing, and it pains him to do it, but it’s a necessary thing. They’re all still there though, those of them assigned to this area, and he grows hopeful as he reaches the end, and—

“Simon?”

Simon is running towards him, looking panicked. Simon, who was supposed to be back at the Institute with Clary Fray.

Well, Simon is most definitely _not_ at the Institute and most definitely _not_ with Fray.

“What are you doing here?” Raphael hisses at him.

“Clary and I got separated,” Simon says, coming to a stop in front of him.

Raphael gets a bad, bad feeling. “How, exactly, did you get separated? You were _supposed_ to stay at the Institute.”

“Um.”

Raphael groans and presses against his eyes with his fingers. Not the best idea, since he ends up accidentally smearing some of the blood. “What. Happened.”

“There was a thing with Jace?” Simon begins, bouncing on his feet a little. “And Clary said she needed to go help him? And she told me to wait for her, but then I got worried when she didn’t come back?”

“Well, where is she now?”

“Um, I don’t know?”

“When we get back,” Raphael begins, voice dangerously low, “I’m going to lock you up inside of the Dumort.”

Simon opens his mouth to protest but then there’s a large flash of light, nearly blinding, and they both turn towards it.

The light is coming from the direction of the lake, a thick and glowing pillar of white. It lingers for a while, then slowly fades away. As it does, all the demons still present at a distance crumble away into nothingness. The rest of Morgenstern’s Shadowhunters, suddenly realizing how outnumbered they are, turn around and flee, though not before some of them are grabbed and taken prisoner.

For a long time, no one moves. The only sounds are the wind and the grunts of Morgenstern’s Shadowhunters as they’re restrained. They’re all waiting for something, though no one’s really sure what.

_Something_ happened at the lake, something that ended the battle, but no one knows what it affected beyond that.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, Raphael sees Magnus emerge from the woods that lie in front of the lake, hand in hand with Alec Lightwood. They both look exhausted, but alive.

They’re followed by the rest of the Lightwoods, as well as Fray and her parents. Simon makes a noise in the back of his throat, then runs to his family immediately, vampire speed getting him there within seconds.

Once they’re all closer and everyone is gathered around in anticipation, Clary Fray looks at all of them and says, with a steady and strong voice, “Valentine is dead.”

And just like that, it’s over.

\---

Raphael remembers:

It’s two autumns after his turning and he and Magnus are somewhere in Alaska. They’re only just beginning, still working on getting over the awkwardness of that one year of silence and then those handful of days in Los Angeles.

They stand in a large field of grass where many other people are gathered in small clusters. Magnus waves a hand and two lawn chairs appear for them to sit in. Raphael still isn’t completely sure what’s going on, but he takes a seat anyways. Magnus is humming to himself, a pleased smile on his face.

After a while, Magnus says, “Look to the sky.”

Raphael looks to the sky.

At first, there’s nothing, just empty blackness with a few stars scattered about. Then, they appear.

A stream of green light, dancing through the air like a ribbon in the wind. There are several other colors as well, pale pinks and blues, slowly rippling through the night sky, though not as brightly. The entire field is cast in a brilliant green light.

Raphael knows what he’s seeing. But it is one thing to read about something in a book and quite another to see it so up close, dancing right above his head and lighting up everything he sees.

“You know,” Magnus says, his voice soft, “depending on who you ask, the lights symbolize different things. To some, they’re a bad omen, something to be feared. But some others think different. Maybe they’re signs of a celestial battle. Maybe they’re a blessing. Maybe they’re the souls of the dead, lighting up the sky to communicate with their loved ones back on Earth. It’s not definitive of absolute, what the lights are. People believing them to be bad does not make them bad. People believing them to be good does not make them good. All anyone can really do is decide what it means to themself.”

\---

_**Autumn** _

Raphael texts Ragnor, sometimes.

It’s not like he’s expecting a response, or anything ridiculous like that. He just reached for his phone one day after the battle was over and started typing something up before he remembered.

But he went and sent the text anyway, because he felt like it.

In all honesty, it’s like visiting his mother and brothers’ graves on the weekends and talking to their headstones. It’s the same principle, just with a different medium, and it makes him feel a little better, so that’s all that matters to him.

He texts Ragnor about things he finds interesting throughout the day, such as the whole revelation that Jace is a Herondale.

He texts Ragnor about this party in Venice being thrown in celebration for the victory against Morgenstern, and how he very much does _not_ want to go, and how very much Lily and Elliott _do_.

He texts Ragnor about how Fairchild and Garroway started planning their wedding the moment they got back to New York, and how Simon is bouncing off the walls of the Dumort in excitement.

He texts Ragnor about Magnus and Lightwood planning a trip to Europe and how yes, Raphael probably owes Ragnor that twenty bucks, now.

That night, he takes a quick trip to London and burns a twenty-dollar bill over the Thames.

\---

He and Magnus head back to Los Angeles for a few days before Magnus leaves on his trip with Lightwood.

The kids greet them cheerfully, not fully aware of the stakes of what just happened. The grandkids are even more oblivious, simply dropping by to say hello and running off with the presents that Magnus and Raphael bring for them.

Mario hugs them both and nearly cries, elated at their return. Miguel just stares at them, arms crossed over his chest. His weathered face suddenly looks stern and much older than his seventy-seven years should allow.

“I hate this,” Miguel says, once it’s just the four of them, sitting on the porch as the sun sets over the ocean. “There’s always some kind of danger, and you two always end up with some guy who wants you dead.”

“It’s over now, Miguel,” Raphael says,

Miguel does not look relieved at all. “Are you sure? Because that’s what you said last time. And the guy didn’t _actually_ die, which is how we got to _this_ time in the first place.”

“He’s dead for real, this time,” Magnus says. “I saw it. Many of us saw it. He’s not coming back ever again.”

“That’s good,” Mario says firmly, giving Miguel a _look_.

Miguel ignores it. “And what if there’s _another_ guy?”

“There will always be another guy, Miguel,” Magnus says, the light from the sunset reflecting in his golden eyes. “There will always be another war. That’s just _life_. You can’t expect it to be otherwise. But the important thing is that we have each other, and we have more allies, now. So, when the next crisis comes, we’ll handle it, just like every crisis that came before, and every crisis that will come after.”

There’s nothing more to say to that, and the four of them sit in peaceful silence and watch as the sun goes down.

\---

Lily and Elliott do end up dragging him to that party in Venice. They ask Simon along too, but Simon turns them down.

“I’m Luke’s best man, I’m helping him with the wedding. And writing my speech,” Simon tells them happily. “Also, um, I sort of have a date?”

Lily and Elliott’s eyes go wide, because apparently they're gossip queens with nothing better to do with their time. “Really? With who?”

“Izzy,” Simon says, which is a surprise.

“Isabelle Lightwood? When did that happen?” Lily asks.

Simon looks shy now, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Oh, well, we talked a few times in Idris, and before, too, of course. And we’ve gotten kind of close and she asked me out! So!”

“Man,” Elliott says. “Everyone’s dating a Shadowhunter these days. Maybe I should find myself one.”

“Elliott, don’t find yourself a Shadowhunter,” Raphael says.

“Elliott, I’ll help you find a Shadowhunter,” says Lily, at the same time.

Raphael glares at her and she beams back. Elliott and Simon break into raucous laughter.

“You guys are amazing,” Simon declares, and Lily and Elliott tackle him with hugs.

\---

In Venice, Raphael hides away in a small alcove on the second floor of the building the party is being held in and watches as Lily and Elliott enjoy the party below. He sits on the floor and leans against the bars of the railing.

It’s a loud affair, everyone overjoyed by the victory and wanting to celebrate. He understands the feeling, just prefers his celebrations to involve less dramatics.

He takes out his phone and sends a few texts off to Ragnor. There’s a whole wall of texts, now, sent just from him, and he has to scroll up for a bit just to get to their last conversation before Ragnor left for Idris.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Raphael turns and sees Magnus walking up to him. The warlock is dressed in a glittering blue jacket that reaches to his knees and he has one of those Venetian masks on his head, though it is turned so it’s resting on the side of his head. He looks a lot better than when Raphael last saw him, the exhaustion from the war now faded.

Magnus grins at him and drops down onto the floor, crossing his legs as he takes a seat.

“Lily and Elliott forced me to come,” Raphael tells him. “They’re off somewhere, hopefully not making trouble.”

“Sounds about right,” Magnus laughs.

“What about you? Where’s your Shadowhunter?”

“Catarina stole him away from me,” Magnus says with a pout. “She usually doesn’t really like the people I date, but she took to Alexander rather well. Now, they’re conspiring and telling each other secrets.”

Raphael grins. “Sounds about right.”

Magnus gives him a glare and ruffles his hair in retaliation. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Wait,” Raphael says, slowly realizing something. “Weren’t the two of you supposed to be in Paris?”

Magnus’s expression immediately turns into a combination of guilty and sheepish, and Raphael gets a bad, bad feeling.

“What did you _do_?” Raphael asks, though he’s thinking he probably doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nothing!” Magnus protests. “Everything’s just fine, I have it under control.”

“You always say it's fine, Magnus. And sometimes it really is fine, but sometimes you end up missing for _days_.”

"Okay,” Magnus interjects, holding a placating hand up. “That only happened once, for which I already apologized profusely. And this is different!"

Raphael narrows his eyes at him. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

Magnus lets out a dramatic sigh and tilts his head back. “Tessa came by while Alec and I were in Paris,” he begins eventually. “I won’t get into the specifics, but there’s a certain situation that the Spiral Labyrinth is looking into, and Tessa came to notify me of it. I just need to handle it before it gets out of control.”

“That doesn’t sound concerning at all,” Raphael mutters.

“It really isn’t,” Magnus tells him. “Alec and I have it all under control. We’re just here chasing down a lead. And party crashing. Party crashing is always cool.”

“You weren’t invited?” Raphael asks with a frown, because that is very unexpected.

Magnus shrugs. “I didn’t even know about this party until we tracked our lead down here. It’s not that surprising, all things considered.”

After the original drama with the failed wedding, Raphael hasn’t really been paying attention to the thoughts of the Downworld at large in regards to Magnus’s relationship with Lightwood. He knows that quite a few people don’t approve. But this, as well as what Magnus brought up at the Cabinet meeting a month ago, seems to be cause for concern.

However, Magnus doesn’t seem to share these same concerns. He just dismisses them lightly, instead turning to gaze over the party happening on the floor below them.

Raphael follows Magnus’s gaze and sees Lightwood, wearing a mask identical to Magnus’s perched on his head as he dances with Loss. They’re smiling and chatting with each other about something.

“You know,” Raphael says. “Ragnor and I made a bet on your relationship with Lightwood.”

Magnus looks at him out of the corner of his eye and smiles a little. “How’d that go?”

“Well,” Raphael says with a shrug. “All things considered, I’d say he won.”

“That’s nice,” Magnus says, soft. He’s still watching Loss and Lightwood.

They sit in silence for a while longer, watching the people below dance.

After a few minutes, Magnus suddenly sits up straight, moving to stand up.

“Oh dear,” Magnus says, looking towards a different part of the building, now.

Raphael looks, too, and sees Malcolm Fade, which makes him scowl. He’s only seen Fade a handful of times since that first night in Los Angeles and hasn’t spoken to him at all. Then, he sees another warlock approaching Fade, rage written into his features. Magic hovers around the hands of both warlocks.

“Alright,” Magnus says. “We’re leaving now. I need to go get Alec. Where are Lily and Elliott?”

“What’s going on?” Raphael asks, getting to his feet and following after Magnus as they make their way away from the alcove and down to the first floor.

Magnus only says, all serious, “Warlock drama.”

\---

The so-called ‘warlock drama’ ends with half the building collapsed in on itself and Downworlders streaming out like a flood as the building falls. Thankfully, magic prevents the disaster from being fatal and there are only a few relatively minor injuries once the dust clears.

Raphael stands with Magnus, Lily, Elliott, Loss, and Lightwood, a good and safe distance away from the building.

“That sucks,” Elliott comments into the silence. Raphael’s pretty sure that he’s already had a few too many drinks. “I was having fun, too.”

Lily pats his shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry. There’ll always be other parties.”

“I suppose I should head back to New York,” Loss says with a sigh. She turns to hug Magnus and Lightwood. “Be safe, you two.”

“We should get going, too,” Lightwood says once the portal closes behind Loss. “We still have to…” he trails off, darts a quick, hesitant look at Raphael, Lily, and Elliott. “Take care of the, um, thing.”

Magnus raises his eyebrows at him but leans in to brush a quick kiss against his lips. “Of course, Alexander.” Then, turning to Raphael, he says, “I’ll see you back in New York. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

That has Raphael raising _his_ eyebrows. There’s a part of him that wants to go along with Magnus, help him out with whatever situation is going on. But if he really thinks about it, all he’ll be doing is be the third-wheel on some date-mission-whatever between Magnus and Lightwood, and that doesn’t sound all that fun at all.

“I should be telling you the same thing,” Raphael says instead. “But, yeah, I’ll see you back in New York.”

Magnus beams at him, then takes Lightwood’s hand and the two of them walk away, heads bent towards each other in a private conversation and their strides matching perfectly.

\---

Unfortunately, defeating Morgenstern does not mean all of their problems are over. There are still a myriad of smaller issues to deal with, and the first starts when Raphael gets back to New York and finally learns what the Seelies did to Simon that day in Idris.

The Mark of Cain on Simon’s forehead is a problem, one that nearly results in a confrontation with the Garroway’s pack when a few of them corner Simon, only to get blown back by the Mark.

Garroway, fortunately, is able to stop his wolves from retaliating, though the Mark is still an issue. Simon’s prone to getting in trouble and this adds a whole new element of danger to everything. And it’s not as if they can just march into the Seelie realm and demand that they remove the Mark.

“It’s fine,” Simon says, rubbing his forehead. Though it was glowing earlier, the Mark has faded by now. Invisible, but still present. “I’ll just stay out of trouble.”

Neither Raphael nor Garroway look particularly appeased by this response, and Raphael wonders if locking Simon up in the Dumort is a feasible option. Probably not. Garroway would _definitely_ take issue with that, and Simon would likely just find a way to sneak out, if he put his mind to it.

In addition to the Mark, there’s also the situation with Simon, his vampirism, and his family, which is something that Simon grows more and more anxious about by the day.

Which is how Raphael finds himself sitting in the outdoor seating area of a café in Lower Manhattan, sitting next to Simon and across from Simon’s older sister, Rebecca.

“So,” she says after five long minutes of silence. “You’re a vampire.”

Simon nods, bouncing his leg up and down frantically. She hadn’t believed him at first, despite both him and Raphael trying to explain. What it took was Simon making his sister take his pulse, only to confirm that he doesn’t have one.

“What are you thinking?” Simon asks, eyes darting around nervously. There’s a note of fear in his voice, and Raphael can distantly feel the emotion through the sire-bond.

“I’m thinking,” Rebecca begins, staring down at her mug of coffee, “that this is a lot to spring on a person, and I need some time to process.”

Simon nods jerkily. “Okay.”

“Does Mom know?”

“I’m, uh, working my way up to that,” Simon says.

“Right,” Rebecca says, nodding in a way that very much resembles Simon’s nod. She turns her attention to Raphael and frowns. “And who are you, again?”

“I’m Raphael,” he tells her. “I’m the leader of the vampire clan here in New York.”

“So, you’re like my brother’s boss, or something?”

Raphael shrugs. “Sure, if you want to call it that.”

She squints at him. “You look like a kid.”

“ _Rebecca_!” Simon hisses, with comically wide eyes.

But Raphael is long-used to comments like that. “I was turned when I was fifteen. But I’m a lot older than that.”

“Right.” She stares at him for a moment longer, then nods again, turning her attention back to her brother.

She reaches her hand across the table and takes Simon’s giving it a tight squeeze. Simon squeezes back, giving her a tentative smile, which she returns readily.

“Alright,” Rebecca says. “We’re going to be just fine.”

The two siblings share a smile, and Raphael remembers returning home that winter and being greeted with hugs by his brothers, and he finds himself smiling as well.

\---

Magnus and Lightwood get back from their trip in one piece and unharmed, to Raphael’s profound relief. The situation is handled, Magnus tells him without elaborating on _what_ , exactly, the situation is.

They get back a few days before Garroway and Fairchild’s wedding, to which Raphael learns, he is not only invited, but also _expected to attend_.

“I don’t see why I even have to go,” Raphael says on the day of the wedding as Magnus hands him a black suit jacket. They’re standing in the common room of the Dumort. It’s during the day, so everyone else is asleep, and Simon is off with Garroway helping the werewolf get ready. “Garroway and I don’t even like each other. He’s only inviting me out a sense of obligation.”

“Be that as it may,” Magnus says, holding up several ties for comparison, “it is still important for _all_ of us to put in an appearance.”

“Sure,” Raphael grumbles as Magnus settles on a dark grey tie and drapes it around Raphael’s neck.

“We’re all allies, now,” Magnus continues, looping the ends of the tie over and around each other. Raphael remembers that Magnus has done this for him several times before, for his brothers’ weddings, their kids’ weddings, and for his mother’s funeral.

“As such,” Magnus goes on, slipping the fat end of the tie through the loop, “it is important for us to support each other. Hence, everyone who can attend the wedding, is attending the wedding. There we go!”

Magnus adjusts the knot of the tie, pushing it up and straightening the fabric. He presses a kiss to Raphael’s forehead and beams.

\---

The wedding itself is not _too_ terrible. Fairchild and Garroway grin at each other the whole time, not letting go of each other’s hands from the moment they make contact. Fray and Simon stand beside them, equally overjoyed at the event.

Raphael glances over at Magnus, who is sitting a few rows in front of him next to Lightwood. Their shoulders are pressed close together intimately. When Fairchild and Garroway finish with their vows and slide rings onto each other’s fingers, Lightwood leans in and kisses Magnus’s cheek. Magnus returns the gesture.

As Fairchild and Garroway walk down the aisle together hand in hand while their guests stand and applaud, Raphael wonders if Magnus plans on marrying the Shadowhunter.

It’s not technically legal. Fairchild and Garroway have lived in the mundane long enough that they’re fine with getting married under the State of New York, but the Clave will never recognize the union, at least not as it is right now.

But if Magnus and Lightwood don’t bother too much with legality, or if they end up changing the laws altogether somehow, then they could do it.

Raphael can’t really imagine it.

And, thinking of sunflower rings and nights in Harlem, reading stories and sitting by the ocean in Los Angeles, he finds that he really _doesn’t_ want to imagine it.

\---

Raphael remembers:

He is twelve years old and he is on a train with his mother and brothers.

His mother woke him up in the middle of the night with several bags already packed, telling him to very quietly wake up Miguel then to meet her and the twins in front of the house. He did as she said, and when he and Miguel left, their father was snoring on the couch, an empty bottle of liquor lying on the ground nearby.

Now, on the train, Raphael still doesn’t know where they are going. Miguel is asleep curled up around their mother and the twins are asleep curled up around each other. Mama strokes Miguel’s hair with one hand and keeps rubbing her stomach with the other.

“Mama,” Raphael says, walking closer to her. “What’s going on?”

She looks up and smiles weakly at him. “We’re going on a little trip.”

“A trip?” he asks. “To where?”

“A new city,” she tells him, still rubbing her stomach. “A fun city. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

“Does your stomach hurt? You keep rubbing it.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. Her hand stills, but it remains where it is. “No, I’m fine, Rapha. Don’t worry about me.”

“When are we coming back?”

Here, she hesitates, bites her lip.

Raphael tilts his head to the side. “Are we coming back?”

“No, we’re not,” she answers with a sigh. “Listen to me, _mijo_. Things are going to be really difficult for a while, okay? I’ll be needing your help to keep an eye on your brothers. But I _promise_ you, in the end, everything’s going to turn out alright. I just need you to be strong for me. Can you do that for me?”

Raphael kneels down in front of his mother and wraps his arms around her, pressing his face into his shoulder.

“Of course, Mama,” he promises her. 

\---

There’s a werewolf following Simon, and rather than ditching him or telling him off like a normal person, Simon brings him back to the Dumort.

“The Praetor Lupus sent you?” Raphael asks the werewolf, Kyle.

“That’s right,” Kyle says, glancing at his surroundings warily, while still maintaining a soldier-like stance. “I’ve been sent to monitor Simon because of the Mark of Cain, but I can help him.”

Simon nods enthusiastically. “Kyle’s been helping me get better at dodging attacks so the Mark doesn’t even activate. He’s a great guy.”

“A great guy that lied to you about for a whole week,” Lily comments, watching them with raised eyebrows. “And who knows what he’s still lying about now?”

“Don’t be a cynic,” says Elliott.

“I agree with Lily,” Raphael says, ignoring Elliott. “We don’t know anything about this guy.”

Kyle frowns at them. “You don’t need to know anything about me,” he says, though there’s a note of politeness to his tone. “All you need to know is that I can, and have been, helping Simon. And that’s something that we all want, right?”

“It’s really not a bad thing, Raphael,” Simon says to him. “Besides, Kyle’s cool.”

Raphael groans and rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he snaps. “Just keep him away from the Dumort, you hear? It’s already bad enough that Garroway is over here as much as he is. I don’t need another werewolf dropping by at their leisure.”

Simon beams at him, bright and grateful. “Sure!”

Later, once Simon and Kyle have left to continue training, or whatever, Lily gives him a small smile of her own.

“You’re soft on him,” she says, looking in the direction that Simon walked off in, then back at Raphael.

Raphael stares her down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

\---

A month later, everything goes straight to hell.

Raphael’s out patrolling the city one night with Lily when there’s an explosion, deafening and lighting up the night sky in a flare of red. He and Lily share a look, then run off towards the direction of the explosion.

There are already other Downworlders and Shadowhunters gathered outside when they arrive. The top of the building has been completely obliterated. This is no ordinary explosion and an odd electricity buzzes through the air. This is something dark and sinister, and maybe their biggest problems aren’t as far away as they originally thought.

Eventually, people they recognize emerge from the burning building, injured but alive.

He sees Magnus first, followed closely by Isabelle and Alec Lightwood, who both look distraught. Fray and Simon are just behind them, and Simon looks injured as well, which shouldn’t be possible given the Mark.

Unless, of course, whatever happened was strong enough to get rid of _that_. None of this bodes well.

The five of them take a moment to realize all the people gathered around the building, but when they do, they all look nervously amongst each other, none of them daring to speak.

Then, Fairchild and Garroway break through the crowd, running up to embrace Fray and Simon.

“What happened?” Fairchild demands, hands settled firmly on her daughter’s shoulders.

“He’s alive,” Fray says, voice small but clear to Raphael’s enhanced hearing. “And he took Jace.”

“Who’s alive?”

Fray’s eyes are wide and scared as she looks at her mother with quivering lips.

“Sebastian.”

\---

_**Returns** _

If Raphael really thinks about it, there’s a strange irony to the situation. He remembers Miguel asking, _What if there’s another guy?_

And now, here they are, with another guy. Well, the son of the previous guy, but same difference.

Miguel is, obviously, not pleased when Raphael calls him with the news.

“Run away.”

“What?”

“Run away,” Miguel repeats. “You and Magnus should both run away. Come stay with us in Los Angeles until this is all over. Or flee the country if you don’t want to come here. Just, run away.”

Raphael has to admit, it’s very tempting. But. “We can’t do that, Miguel.”

“The hell you can’t!” Miguel exclaims, his voice crackling over the phone as he raises his volume. “This guy is another one of those Shadowhunters, right? He’s _their_ problem. Let _them_ deal with it. You and Magnus have nothing to do with it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Raphael says. “We can’t just leave and do nothing.”

“That,” Miguel says, practically biting out the word, “is getting awfully close to the line of thinking that got Antonio and Joaquin _killed_.”

Raphael clenches his hand into a fist. “Don’t say that. This isn’t the same _at all_. They didn’t _have_ to get involved in that war. It was happening all the way in another country, for fuck’s sake. But this is happening _here_ , and Magnus and I both have an _actual responsibility_ to the people here.”

“You also have a responsibility to your family,” Miguel says quietly.

“Miguel,” Raphael says, closing his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t want to fight with you right now. I _can’t_ fight with you right now.”

“Then _run away_ ,” Miguel snaps.

“I can’t do that.”

Miguel hangs up on him without another word.

He goes to call Magnus, next, which Raphael hears about a few hours later when he stops by the loft.

“Miguel wants us to run away,” Magnus says quietly, staring out the window. “I told him that we can’t do that.”

“Did he hang up on you, too?” Raphael asks, swirling a glass of plasma in his hand. He doesn’t normally drink it, but the situation definitely warrants an exception. Lightwood isn’t here, having a family meeting of his own back at the Institute.

Magnus sighs, propping an elbow on the arm of the couch and resting his face against his palm. “Yes.”

“What a _jerk_ ,” Raphael mutters bitterly.

“Don’t say that about your brother,” Magnus reprimands. “He’s just scared and worried. He has a right to be.”

“He’s behaving like a child,” Raphael snaps. “We’re the ones who actually have to deal with this shit. He just has to stay there and be patient.”

“He just wants us to be _safe_ , Rapha,” Magnus says imploringly, leaning forward and gently taking one of Raphael’s hands in his own. “You can’t hold that against him.”

Raphael grunts, neither an agreement nor objection. It’s not like he _wants_ to be fighting with Miguel. Of all of them still alive, he and Miguel have been with each other the longest, only three years separating them in age. They have always been each other’s closest friend, and Raphael always hates it when they fight.

But there are just some things that Miguel can’t ever understand, no matter how many stories Raphael tells him about the Downworld. Raphael’s duties and responsibilities as clan leader, the same for Magnus as High Warlock, are the issue here. Miguel’s heard the stories of how the previous clan leader and High Warlock fled during the Uprising, and now probably thinks that it wouldn’t be too hard for Raphael and Magnus to do the same.

Things aren’t as simple as his brother would like to believe, though. Raphael refuses to be _anything_ like Belcourt, and he knows that Magnus would never be anything like Nix, either. Running away simply isn’t an option, no matter how appealing it might sound.

“Hawaii sounds pretty nice about now, huh?” Magnus says with forced lightness.

Raphael goes along with it, because thinking about Hawaii is undoubtedly more pleasant than anything else right about now.

“Maybe after this, we’ll finally retire,” he comments.

Something undecipherable flickers across Magnus’s face, but it’s gone before Raphael can spend too long trying to process it. “Yeah,” Magnus says. “After.”

He really, really doesn’t like the stiff tone that Magnus says that in. There’s something _wrong_ about it.

“We’ll all go,” Raphael says determinedly, wanting to obliterate that tone. “You, me, Miguel and Mario. Maybe the kids and grandkids, if they want to come along.” Then, after a long moment of consideration, he adds on, “Maybe you could even bring Lightwood.”

Magnus is surprised by this, but at least he smiles a little. “That sounds very nice, Rapha.”

“We’ll make it happen, yeah?” Raphael insists, wanting Magnus to _promise_ him, to assure him that it’ll happen, that they’ll all make it.

But Magnus doesn’t promise anything, just wraps Raphael in a hug and kisses his forehead, not letting go for a long time. 

\---

The Downworld Cabinet meetings begin again in earnest, but there’s a dark, dark cloud over them.

Lightwood is clearly not faring well with his _parabatai_ missing and Raphael remembers that Lightwood recently lost another brother, as well. Magnus fusses, and Raphael can see the strain this is taking on him. Meliorn is largely unhelpful and even more unsympathetic, and it seems like Raphael and Garroway are the only ones completely holding it together.

That only lasts until Clary Fray pulls a disappearing act, going after her brother and Jace. Then, Garroway is doing no better than Lightwood and Simon is all panicked as well, and Raphael, Lily, and Elliott take turns fussing over him.

Simon knows something, Raphael’s pretty sure, though the fledgling won’t say anything to confirm nor deny. It makes sense, though. If Fray were to tell anyone, it would be Simon.

One night, Raphael grabs his phone and sees that he has numerous missed calls, all from Magnus. He frowns, ready to call Magnus back as he steps out of the front doors of the Dumort, only to find Camille Belcourt standing by the gate.

Raphael just stares at her figure and blinks a few times, still not entirely convinced that this is _actually happening_. But then she sees him and is walking slowly forward, steps measured and confident. And soon, she is just a few feet away from him and still looks very real.

It’s been decades since he saw her last, but that leering smile and the malicious look in her eyes hasn’t changed one bit.

“Belcourt,” Raphael says, glaring at her, slipping his phone back into his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“What a cold greeting, Santiago,” she says silkily, and he hates the sound of his name in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be more welcoming towards your leader?”

“You aren’t my leader anymore,” he snaps immediately. “And this is _my_ clan now, not yours, so you can leave.”

He straightens his posture and lets his fangs slip out, making the message clear.

Belcourt is unfazed. “Let’s not be too hasty,” she says, cocking her head and smiling with sickeningly fake sweetness. “I have the protection of the New York Institute, after all.”

“ _What_?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” she asks with a purr. “I’ve just come from there, made a deal. My help with your little Sebastian situation in return for immunity and protection. Did the Shadowhunters not tell you? Or perhaps they just haven’t gotten around to it yet?”

Raphael has nothing to say to this, only stares at her. Decades of dealing with her have trained him to hide his emotions, so he disguises his shock beneath an impassive mask.

She lets out a little laugh. “It’s funny, how many things have changed,” she tells him, examining her nails. “You and your little fledgling are Daylighters, now, if the rumors I’ve been hearing are true. You’ve gone and allied the clan with Shadowhunters. And Magnus is dating a boy who looks just like Will Herondale. I suppose the last one is hardly surprising. He always _did_ have a fondness for that boy. I saw them at the Institute, holding hands. I can only wonder how long _that_ will last.”

“If you do anything to hurt Magnus,” Raphael begins with a growl, “I’ll rip your fucking throat out, the Institute be damned.”

And even though they’ve never done anything to let her know about their relationship, or even suspect that they’re friendly with each other, Belcourt does not look surprised by Raphael’s declaration at all.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says instead, still smiling. “Anyway, you won’t have to worry about me hanging around here or trying to take back the clan. I’ve no interest in any of that, and I have my own place to stay while I’m in the city. I’ll see you around.”

She gives him a dainty wave, then speeds away within the blink of an eye. Raphael spends far too long staring after her, trying to process everything that just happened.

Eventually, he slips his phone back out of his pocket to find several more missed calls from Magnus. He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what those calls are about.

Then, a text: _We have a problem. Can you come by the Institute?_

_\---_

Raphael barges into the room they use for Cabinet meetings and immediately hones in on Alec Lightwood.

“You made a deal with Camille Belcourt?” Raphael demands, slamming his palms against the table.

Lightwood is unfazed. “She said she has information that can help us. And yes, I _have_ considered the possibility that she’s playing a trick, but we can’t take that chance. We need all the help we can get, so yeah, I made a deal with Camille Belcourt.”

Raphael feels a snarl building up in the back of his throat, but Magnus steps in before he can say anything else.

“Alec has thought this through, Raphael,” Magnus says softly, one hand over his. Lightwood frowns at this, looking confused, but Raphael very resolutely ignores him. “No one likes this, but it’s what we have to work with.”

“Did you talk to her?” Raphael asks.

Magnus shakes his head. “Not much. I got here just as Alec’s meeting with her was finishing up.”

Raphael’s pretty sure that there’s a lot hidden in that ‘not much.’ Given all that Belcourt said to _him_ , he can’t imagine her not saying some of those things to Magnus and Lightwood, particularly the thing about Will Herondale.

“So, what now?” Raphael asks, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to glare at Lightwood. “Will she be joining us during meetings? Listening in on our conversations?”

“Only when relevant,” Lightwood says, with a glare of his own. “Other than that, she is to come to us when she has information, and we are to protect her from anyone in the city who wants to harm her. And _all_ of us are bound to that agreement. I hate it, too, but it is what it is. Will that be a problem?”

“No.”

“ _Good._ ”

“ _Fine_.”

“Hey,” Magnus interjects, frowning at them both. “This is not the time for in-fighting.”

And Raphael thinks of Miguel, and how they haven’t really spoken since their fight. They’ve been using Mario as a go-between, passing messages along. Angry messages, usually. It’s something they haven’t done since they were little boys and the twins were their go-between, either because Mario hadn’t been born yet, or hadn’t learned to talk yet.

Raphael and Lightwood both glare at each other, then look away, but say nothing more. 

They _will_ have to have a conversation about all this someday, Raphael knows. If Magnus and Lightwood are going to last—and Raphael has a feeling that they will, no matter his other feelings on the relationship—then his life and Lightwood’s life will eventually have to become a lot more intertwined than they currently are.

If Magnus and Lightwood’s relationship goes the way Raphael thinks it will, then one day Lightwood will technically be _family_ , even if Lightwood doesn’t even _know that_ , yet.

Raphael wants to preserve this time that he has, this time with _just them_ (Raphael, his brothers, Magnus), and no Lightwood. He wants longer than just six decades, and he wants more things and memories that are _just for them_ , like nights in Harlem and the house in Los Angeles.

These things are all so, so precious, and he has never been more terrified of anything else in his life than his is of losing them.

\---

A few days later, after the next Cabinet meeting, Raphael returns to the Dumort to find Lily waiting for him by the front doors. Her expression alone tells him that something’s wrong.

“What is it?” he asks, bracing for the worst.

“Marcella’s here,” Lily tells him, and she sounds just as confused as he feels. “She wants to see you.”

“ _Marcella_?”

“Apparently,” Lily begins, looking upset, “she and some of the others who left during the Uprising came back to the city when Camille did. They’re all camping out in some abandoned warehouse, somewhere.”

Marcella is the other vampire who’d been there the night Raphael met Lily. One of the vampires who’d left with Camille during the Uprising, one of the vampires who’d been there during London. He could probably count the number of times he’s spoken to her on one hand.

And yet.

Marcella waits for him in a large area on the second floor, where they usually hold clan meetings. She sits in one of the wooden chairs, wearing a sweater and jeans, and her brown hair is done up in a messy bun. She stares blankly at the ground, but her head snaps up when Raphael and Lily walk in.

Raphael is too exhausted to bother with formalities. “What do you want?”

Marcella doesn’t waste time, either. “I want you to help me kill Camille.”

Lily swears, viciously.

“ _What_?” Raphael exclaims.

“You heard me,” Marcella says, tilting her chin up. “I want her dead. I’ve wanted her dead for _decades_. A lot of us have, especially with how she’s been treating us since we were forced out of New York. But none of us are strong enough, or brave enough. But you. You have all of the New York Downworld as allies, and even the Institute, as well. And I’ve heard rumors that you and your fledglings have abilities no one else does. You can kill her.”

Raphael shares a look with Lily, who gives him a small shake of her head.

“The deal with Belcourt is that none of us are to harm her,” Raphael tells her.

“So, what?” Marcella snaps. “Back out of the deal. What will it hurt?”

“Plenty,” Raphael snaps right back. “For one, can you guarantee that she doesn’t actually have information that can help us?”

Marcella’s determined expression falters here, and her hands clench into fists. “Well, no one really knows what she’s thinking, but…”

“Exactly,” Raphael says. “As much as I hate this deal and want her dead, if she knows something, then she’s of more use to us alive than dead.”

“So, you won’t help me? Not even after all she’s done?”

“Stop asking, Marcella,” Raphael orders, even though she isn’t under his command. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

He doesn’t say that he really _does_ want to help her, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Marcella stares at him, long and considering. Then, very deliberately, she says, “Would you like me to tell you about London?”

_Yes_ , he thinks. He’s always wanted to know about London, both parts, though Marcella is only offering him one. It’s always been this shrouded mystery that everyone knows about except for him. It’s this large, significant part of Magnus’s life, full of Herondales and Lightwoods that Raphael’s only ever heard vague stories of.

There’s a part of him that hates London, or the idea of it, anyway. A large part of that is because of what Belcourt did to Magnus. But a smaller part is that London has always had a way of making him feel small and insignificant.

Sixty-odd years. Such a large proportion of his own life, but such a small proportion of everyone else’s. Barely anything. Nowhere _near_ enough.

But. But it is no more Raphael’s business to hear about London from someone other than Magnus, than it is Lightwood’s business to learn about their family in Los Angeles before they’re ready for him to know.

“Not from you,” Raphael says with finality.

Marcella scowls, but moves to stand. She moves through the room, but comes to a stop by the stairs and turns back to look at him.

“Will you try to stop me?” she asks.

“Not if you wait until our business with her is settled,” Raphael tells her.

She nods, and then is gone.

\---

The information from Belcourt gets the Shadowhunters to somewhere in Europe. They’re the only ones that go, and everyone else waits back in New York.

“Marcella, huh?” Magnus remarks, leaning against the back of his chair.

They sit on the back patio of Pandemonium, staring over the river. It’s daytime, so the bar is closed and the sunlight glints blindingly off the river. Despite that, the late-autumn air is chilly, and Raphael watches as Magnus’s breaths become small white clouds.

“Yeah,” Raphael says.

“She was kind to me, back in London,” Magnus muses. “She would sneak me food and water when Camille wasn’t looking.” 

Raphael stiffens, at that. “What kind of situation were you in, in the first place, that you needed someone to sneak you food and water?”

Magnus doesn’t answer that, and for once, Raphael doesn’t think he _wants_ him to. From that one sentence combined with all the other pieces he’s put together over the years, he can tell that it’s likely something that will fill him with horror and make him want to track Belcourt down and murder her.

“Does Lightwood really look that much like Will Herondale?” Raphael asks instead.

“His eyes, his hair,” Magnus says lightly. “Honestly, I stopped paying attention to that pretty quickly. He might look like him, but Alexander is nothing like Will. Which is good. I cared for Will, but only distantly, never letting myself get too close. Alexander is different. I love him, so, so much.”

“That’s good,” Raphael says, and means it.

Magnus gives him a long look, then sits up straight in his chair.

“Raphael, listen to me,” Magnus says. Raphael gives him his full attention. “London,” Magnus begins. “London is my history. Will. Camille. It was important, but it’s all firmly in my past.”

He pauses, takes a breath, and traces his fingers over the sunflower ring.

“ _This_ ,” he intones, gripping the sunflower ring. “ _This_ and _you_ and _our family_ , those who are still here and those who have passed on. All of that is my _forever_. It’s something I will _never_ let go of, no matter what comes to pass.

“And Alexander, I want him to be a part of my forever as well. I want all of you together to be a part of my forever. Maybe it’s selfish, to want that much. But that’s just how I feel.”

There’s something tight clamping in Raphael’s chest, like a vice. If he still needed to breathe, he probably wouldn’t be able to right now. Something wet slides down his cheek and his eyes hurt.

Gently, Magnus reaches a hand out and places it against Raphael’s cheek. The warmth of his magic washes over, cleaning away the blood-tears.

“It’s not selfish,” Raphael finally manages to say. “It’s not selfish at all. In fact, I feel the same. Forever.”

\---

Raphael remembers:

He is thirteen years old and they are standing in the house in Harlem for the first time. It is empty and smaller than their home back in Mexico, but Miguel and the twins have already started running up and down the stairs, laughing as they try to race each other.

Raphael ventures deeper into the house, glancing at the small kitchen and small sitting area beside it. A glass sliding door leads out into a small yard.

“What do you think?” his mother asks, standing behind him.

Raphael turns around. She’s smiling, looking around the house. In her arms, Mario is fast asleep. He’s a tiny little thing, Raphael’s newest little brother. He’s only a few days old, has barely even opened his eyes yet or done anything except cry.

Raphael already loves him immensely.

“It’s alright,” he tells his mother, even though he’s already homesick. He doesn’t care one bit about his father, but he longs for the familiarity of their little town and how he knew every nook and cranny of their old neighborhood.

“Do you think it can be home?” his mother asks earnestly.

Raphael looks around again. All of this is unfamiliar and new, just like the language they now all have to learn. The city is oppressively tall, filled with people who don’t look anything like them and who look at them through narrowed eyes.

But then Raphael looks at the baby in his mother’s arms and thinks about the life his brother will have. He’ll never have to know the cruelty of their father. He’ll never have to hide away curled up in a dark corner somewhere, scared to be hurt. He’ll never have to go from a familiar land to a foreign one, just to be safe.

“Yeah,” Raphael decides. “I think it can be home.”

\---

The Shadowhunters arrive back in New York with both Jace and Clary in tow, so Belcourt’s information wasn’t completely useless. There was apparently a small battle, and Sebastian got away at the end of it, so there’s still that to worry about.

With that, the Shadowhunters also effectively cut off their deal with Belcourt, which means that killing her is now, technically, an option.

But there are other things that Raphael needs to take care of first before he can start thinking too much about that.

With his best friend back, Simon is much more relaxed, and with that, they go to see Simon’s mother.

It goes just about as terribly as imaginable.

Simon’s mother yells and cries and curses at them, and Raphael can see as Simon’s heart breaks. Simon starts crying, too, which only makes things worse, because vampires cry tears of blood. This is frightening for Simon’s mother, who drops to her knees and starts praying.

Even so, Simon tries to go to her, to comfort her, and she looks up with _such fear—_

Raphael grabs Simon by his arm and drags him out of the apartment. Simon is blubbering and still crying, but he doesn’t try to resist as they go.

They walk down the street for a few minutes before Raphael comes to a decision. He changes course and takes them to the Jade Wolf. It’s still daytime, and most of the werewolves are out and about, but Garroway is there, and immediately rushes to Simon when they walk in.

“What happened?” Garroway demands, shooting a glare at Raphael.

“We went to see my mom,” Simon says, having stopped crying. “I told her that I’m a vampire. It didn’t go well.”

“Oh, Simon,” Garroway says. Then he turns back to Raphael. “Did you encourage this?”

“Yes,” Raphael answers, looking the werewolf straight in the eye.

“Why? You know mundanes don’t react well to the Downworld.”

The werewolf is angry with him. Or worried about Simon and taking it out on Raphael. Or both. But Raphael doesn’t really blame him. He should’ve planned this better, did something more to make sure Simon’s mother wouldn’t react so harshly. Or make Simon wait longer, until they could figure something out.

“My mother reacted well,” Raphael says instead, quietly. It’s not information that he usually volunteers, but the situation seems to warrant it. “I was hoping that Simon’s mother would react well, too. I didn’t do this out of malice, if that’s what you think. I just wanted to help.”

He wants to give Simon something, like Magnus gave to him all those years ago. That _something good_. Acceptance. Family. _Something_. But he’s still young and still learning, and yes, this failed miserably, but maybe there’s still something he can salvage.

The werewolf blinks at him, surprised. “Oh.”

“It’s fine, Luke,” Simon says with a watery smile. “I knew this was a possibility going in. I was just…upset. I guess we’ll, uh, need to go back and make her forget. I don’t want her living with a terrible memory like that for the rest of her life.”

“You will do no such thing,” a familiar voice says.

They all turn to the entrance of the Jade Wolf, and there stands Rebecca Lewis, hers and Simon’s mother right behind her. She’s holding on hard to her mother’s hand, not letting go, and her mother is looking around the restaurant nervously.

“Hello, Luke, Raphael,” Rebecca says, giving them a bright smile. “Could you give us some privacy, please? We need to have an important family conversation.”

\---

Raphael and Garroway leave the Lewis family at one of the tables and head back into the kitchen.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Raphael asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Garroway says, but there’s something hopeful in his expression.

Raphael nods. “Good.”

“Look,” Garroway says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head. “I do appreciate you trying to help Simon with his family. I’m not sure how this will turn out, but I think it’s good that you’re trying.”

“Sometimes,” Raphael says with a shrug, “that’s all anyone can do. Trying. At least, that’s what Magnus says, but I usually tend to think that he’s right.”

Garroway gives him a strange look, but before he can say anything else, Raphael’s phone rings. He slips it out of his pocket then frowns when he sees who’s calling. He nods ad Garroway then steps out the back door of the kitchen into the small alley outside before answering the call.

“Lily? What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the day.”

“Look,” Lily begins, all calm. “Try not to freak out, but Marcella left a message on our answering machine.”

Raphael blinks. “We haven’t used that thing in _years_.”

“I know, right?” There’s a little laugh in Lily’s voice. “But apparently it’s the only way Marcella could contact us.”

“What did she say?”

“She just left an address,” she says, then there’s a crackle in the line as he hears her moving her phone around. His own vibrates just a moment later. “There, I just sent it to you. I looked it up, and it’s for an old abandoned warehouse somewhere. I think it’s where Camille is staying.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to go check it out,” Raphael decides. “I’ll call you back when I know more.”

“Be careful,” Lily tells him.

“Do you think it’s something bad?”

Lily huffs. “Given everything she said the last time we saw her and everything I know about her, I hardly think it can be anything good.”

Well. Isn’t that just foreboding?

\---

Belcourt is already dead when Raphael arrives at the warehouse.

There’s a shattered window on one wall, broken glass all over the floor. Sunlight pours through, illuminating a small patch on the ground. In that patch, lies a mound of ash and bones. It reminds Raphael of that day when he pushed his sire into the sunlight, leaving him a similar mound of ash and bones on the ground.

All those centuries, and extinguished within moments upon touching sunlight.

Marcella is standing just off to the side of the window. Her hands completely burned and there’re scratches all over her arms and face. The other vampires are in the darkest corner of the warehouse staring on at all of this in shock. No one moves to retaliate against Marcella, though.

Magnus and Lightwood are there, too. Lightwood is hovering worriedly at Magnus’s side, refusing to let go of his hand. Magnus is just staring at the mound of ash and dust that used to be a woman he once loved.

“She’s dead,” Marcella announces, turning to face the vampires huddled in the dark corner. “If any of you would like to follow me from here on out, feel free to do so.”

Marcella turns to Raphael. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I don’t want anything to do with the Harlem clan. I never liked that we left London, in the first place. I love that city, even if I resented what she did within it. We’ll be going there, now.”

She turns to Magnus. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more for you, all those decades ago,” she tells him. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer as you did. It wasn’t right. We all knew it, but none of us could do anything to stop her.”

Magnus is still staring at the pile of ash, but as Marcella apologizes, he finally breaks the stare and turns to her. If he were in Magnus’s position, Raphael probably wouldn’t forgive her. He holds tightly onto his grudges, letting anger fester.

But Magnus is not like him.

“That’s alright, Marcella,” Magnus says. “There’s nothing to forgive in the first place. It wasn’t your fault.”

He turns back to the pile of ash and gives it one final, decisive nod. With a shaky voice, he says, “Good riddance.”

Raphael comes to stand beside him. “Indeed.”

\---

The Shadowhunter exiting the Brooklyn loft looks familiar, but Raphael can’t quite place him. He’s certainly not someone Raphael’s seen in recent days, and it’s not like Raphael actually knows many Shadowhunters that would look familiar. Nonetheless, the feeling of familiarity only intensifies the closer and closer Raphael gets to the door.

The Shadowhunter spots Raphael, and raises his eyebrows a little. Raphael squints at him and _thinks_ , trying to remember, and—Oh!

“You’re Brother Zachariah,” Raphael blurts, staring.

The Shadowhunter is indeed Brother Zachariah. Tessa’s Silent Brother.

Except he’s _not_ a Silent Brother, right now. Gone are those billowy robes and unmoving facial expressions. The Shadowhunter standing before him wears a plain black shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. He has a tanned complexion and his eyes are a warm brown, his hair a pitch black. There’s a faded _parabatai_ rune visible on his neck, and Raphael recognizes the rune from seeing it on Lightwood and Jace.

“Hello,” Zachariah says, his verbalized voice sounding just like the one he used to speak into Raphael’s head before. “It’s been a while.”

Raphael just stares at him, not comprehending.

“Rapha!” Magnus’s voice comes from inside the loft. “Is that you?”

Of course, Magnus knows that it’s him. He has his wards and magic, and he’s probably only calling out to get him to not bother Tessa’s ex-Silent Brother too much.

“Well,” Zachariah says with a pleasant smile. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He walks off down the hall with a steady stride and Raphael stares after him for a moment before walking in.

Magnus sits in one of the chairs by the window, cradling a teacup in his hands. There’s another teacup sitting on the table across from him, and when Raphael gets closer, he can see specks of tea leaves clinging to the bottom of the cup, though the tea itself is gone.

“That was Brother Zachariah,” Raphael states aloud, on the off chance that doing so will make the whole situation make sense. He sits down in the vacated seat across from Magnus. “Except he’s no longer Brother Zachariah.”

“Well,” Magnus begins. “He says he’s going to continue going by Zachariah for a while. He wants to get his affairs in order before he takes back his old name.”

“ _Why_ is he not a Silent Brother anymore?”

Magnus drains the rest of his tea, then sets it down gently against the table.

“The circumstances around him becoming a Silent Brother in the first place were special. It was necessity, not a choice, and I’m sure you’ve always seen that he’s different than the others. Something happened while they were fighting Sebastian in Europe that took away that necessity, and since his transformation was special, the Silent Brothers were able to undo it.”

“So, he’s just a Shadowhunter again.”

“That’s right.”

“What about Tessa?”

“He says he’s going to wait to tell her,” Magnus answers. “He has things he needs to do first, before he’s ready.”

“Oh,” Raphael says. He’s still unclear on the whole relationship between Tessa and Zachariah, but he knows that they’re important to each other. “But all of this is good, right? For them?”

Magnus breaks into a grin so wide that it looks like he might start crying from joy.

“ _Yes_ ,” Magnus says emotionally. “They have been waiting _so long_ for this. Well over a century. This is good. This is _so_ good.”

And Raphael thinks he gets it, just by the emotion in Magnus’s voice.

“It’s their forever,” he ventures, remembering that conversation by the river.

Magnus nods solemnly. “It’s their forever.”.

\---

_**Nightmare** _

“Is Miguel _still_ refusing to talk to me?” Raphael asks. “Because this is getting to a whole new level of pettiness”

Mario sighs over the phone. “Miguel’s just…upset. And worried. Just give him time.”

Raphael grumbles under his breath.

“The two of you need to stop arguing over every single little thing,” Mario says, suddenly sounding very serious and a little irritated. “You’re always picking at each other over the most ridiculous things, and you always make up in the end, so what’s the point of all this?”

“ _He’s_ the one refusing to speak to _me_ ,” Raphael reminds him. “And he’s the one who started this.”

“That’s not the point,” Mario says, and he’s _definitely_ irritated now. “Yes, he’s being incredibly immature by getting angry and hanging up and using the silent treatment. But you certainly aren’t helping by acting like we don’t have a right to be worried.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” 

“Well, that’s how it feels like to us.”

They’re silent for a while, and Raphael listens as Mario’s agitated breaths slowly calm back down.

“It’s almost over, Mario,” Raphael says eventually. “We’re getting really close to tracking Sebastian down, and then it will be over.”

Mario sighs. “Alright. I’ll tell Miguel that. Anything else I should let him know?”

“Tell him to stop being a brat and to call me and Magnus back.”

“I’ll tell him the second part,” Mario says firmly. “You’re on your own for the first.”

“Fine,” Raphael acquiesces. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mario huffs at him. “You’d better.”

\---

The Seelies call for a meeting with just the Downworld leaders, claiming they have information about Sebastian. The whole thing seems a bit strange, but Meliorn just barely avoids rolling his eyes and says, “It is not a trap, and we _do_ have important matters to discuss.”

“I should be back in a few hours,” Raphael says as he gets ready to leave. “Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone, yes?”

It’s directed at Elliott and Simon, who just look at him with innocent smiles.

Lily laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold the fort down.”

“Good,” Raphael says with a nod, making his way to the front door. “Simon? Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Simon says with a smile. “I’m meeting with my mom and sister, later. It’s going okay. Becca’s managed to talk Mom around, somewhat. I think we’re going to be okay.”

“Good,” Raphael repeats firmly. “I’ll see you all later.”

The meeting takes place in a small garden in the Seelie realm. There’s a large wooden table set on a cobblestone patio, and a ring of tall rose bushes closes the area off from everything else. Small flecks of light float through the air, looking like fireflies, but not quite.

Magnus is already there, chatting with a Seelie woman wearing a dress covered in flowers. They both look up as Raphael steps into the circle and takes a seat. The Seelie woman nods at Magnus with a smile then slips away, disappearing behind the rose bushes.

“Hey,” Magnus greets.

“Hey. Have you spoken with Miguel?”

Magnus sighs. “I’ve left him messages,” he says. “He still seems pretty upset. I spoke with Mario, though. He says he’s trying to get Miguel to stop fussing.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s fussing,” Raphael scoffs. “More like an annoying brat.”

“Be nice to your brother,” Magnus says, smiling.

Raphael pulls a face and Magnus laughs.

A few minutes later, Meliorn and then Garroway walk in, taking their seats at the table. Another Seelie in after Meliorn, carrying a tray of drinks. The Seelie sets an ornate glass of blood down in front of Raphael, and similar glasses of some sort of alcohol in front of Magnus, Garroway, and Meliorn.

Raphael eyes the glass dubiously.

“Do not worry,” Meliorn says, seeming to read all of their thoughts, purposely taking a sip from his own glass. “They are not drugged and they are all brought over from the mundane world. This is just something for us to enjoy while we talk.”

His tone irks Raphael a little, but Seelies can’t lie, so he reaches for his glass and takes a sip. Magnus and Garroway eventually do the same.

“What did you want to tell us, Meliorn?” Magnus asks.

“Sebastian. We have information about him,” Meliorn begins, voice drawn out and slow. He’s looking between the three of them, something like anticipation in his eyes.

Something’s not quite right. Raphael blinks a few times, but the fuzziness in his eyes doesn’t clear up. Meliorn’s voice sounds like it’s distorted, somehow, and Raphael’s head feels heavy all of a sudden.

He looks around the table, at Magnus and Garroway. They’re both blinking rapidly as well, looking confused.

Something is _very_ wrong.

At the other end of the table, Meliorn is sitting calmly, looking wholly unaffected. Raphael makes eye contact with the Seelie, watches as he very deliberately takes another sip out of his glass. Meliorn smiles, and there’s something dark to it.

Raphael turns, tries to make eye contact with Magnus. But the heaviness in his head overtakes him, and he finds his eyes drooping shut, sending him straight into unconsciousness.

\---

Raphael wakes up in what looks like a small jail cell, lit only by four dim torches at the corners of the cell. He looks around and sees Magnus lying next to him, still unconscious, and with manacles around his wrists. Two chains come off the manacles, anchored firmly in the back wall.

Garroway stands at the front of the cell, hands gripped tightly around the bars and facing outwards, as if looking for something. But there’s nothing beyond the bars, just a dark and empty hallway that seems to stretch on forever.

“What the fuck is going on?” Raphael says, rising to his feet.

Garroway turns half-way around, one hand still holding onto the bars.

“The Seelies are working with Sebastian,” Garroway says solemnly, though there’s a touch of rage in his dark eyes. “Sebastian came by earlier. He said that he has _Jocelyn_.”

“Did he say anything about where this is?” Raphael asks, glancing around the cell like doing so will give him clues.

“No,” Garroway says brusquely.

“Edom.”

Raphael whirls around, sees Magnus pushing himself up into a sitting position. He immediately rushes to Magnus’s side, dropping down onto his knees.

“Are you alright?” he blurts out in a rush.

“Fine,” Magnus says, tugging experimentally at the chains.

Raphael grabs at the chains, yanking at them with all his strength. The chains don’t even budge, and he remembers all those months ago being stuck on the boat with Simon, and how it had taken a seraph blade to cut through the strange metal.

“We’re in Edom,” Magnus says wearily, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. “I can feel it in my blood.”

“Edom,” Garroway repeats, coming to stand near them. “That’s not good. Is there anything you can do? Sebastian has Jocelyn. I need to find her.”

Magnus shakes his head, slowly blinking open his golden eyes. “I have no magic here. Sebastian put chains on me to stop me from doing magic, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything even if he hadn’t. This is my father’s realm.”

Garroway blinks. “Your father?”

Raphael shoots him a glare and minutely shakes his head, warning the werewolf off from saying anything more. He knows about Magnus’s father, the broad details, anyways. It’s not exactly Magnus’s favorite topic for conversation.

“He wants me to call on him for his help,” Magnus says, leaning his head against the wall. He looks absolutely dreadful. “That’s why he’s making me weak.”

“What do you mean by that?” Raphael asks immediately, because that doesn’t sound very good at all.

“I’ll be fine,” Magnus assures him, though it’s not convincing. “He just thinks that if he drains enough of my strength, I’ll have to summon him.”

“Magnus—”

“Don’t worry, Raphael,” Magnus says, smiling. “We just need to find a way out of here.”

“I still don’t understand how we even got here,” Garroway says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Meliorn said that the meeting isn’t a trap and that the drinks weren’t drugged. Seelies can’t lie. None of this should even be possible.”

Magnus brings his knees up against his chest. “Unless,” he says, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, the chains rattling with the movement. “Unless, those fucking rumors from _centuries_ ago that no one even _believes_ are actually true.”

“What rumors?” Raphael asks.

Magnus lowers his hands, stares Raphael straight in the eye. “That Meliorn is only half Seelie.”

“What.”

“It was a ridiculous rumor, spread around by someone who created other rumors, all of which have since been proven to be completely false,” Magnus explains. “And it was such a small thing, compared to everything else being said. But, _fuck_. If it’s true, then this all makes sense. Half-Seelies can lie. Some of them appear more human than Seelie, others appear more Seelie than human.”

“So, he lied to us, about the meeting and the drinks,” Garroway concludes. “And the Seelies have been working with Sebastian, and possibly even Valentine, all along. And that’s why the Queen sent Meliorn as the Seelie representative. Because he can _lie_.”

“Makes a lot of sense, if you think about it,” Magnus mutters, rubbing his forehead.

Garroway turns away and stalks back to the cell bars, once again gripping them tightly with his hands.

“I need to find Jocelyn,” is all he says, resolute.

Magnus and Raphael share a look. Magnus reaches a hand out towards Raphael but the chains stop him short. Raphael leans in closer, lets Magnus cup a hand around his cheek, press a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re going to be fine,” Magnus whispers.

\---

It is hard to keep track of time in the dusty and dimly-lit cell. Raphael sits beside Magnus against the back wall with his legs crossed. Magnus fell asleep some time ago, curled up into a ball on the ground. He frowns in his sleep, looking terribly uncomfortable.

Raphael slips off his jacket, the same one Magnus got for him all those years ago, and balls it up and tucks it under Magnus’s head. Magnus shifts a little, but doesn’t wake.

“They have to have noticed that we’re missing, by now,” Garroway says, still by the bars. “Us and Jocelyn. They’ll come looking for us, and I’ll find Jocelyn, and we’ll defeat Sebastian and finally get out of this damned mess.”

“Aren’t you an optimistic one,” Raphael mutters.

Garroway turns to glare at him. “And you think sitting around expecting the worst is so much better?” he demands, sounding vaguely frantic. “What’s _your_ take on what’s going to happen, seeing as you’re so quick to criticize mine?”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I was just making an observation,” he says. “You don’t have to take it so offensively.”

“I can’t just wait around here,” Garroway growls, though his anger isn’t really targeted at Raphael. “He has Jocelyn. I have to do _something_.”

If Magnus were awake, he’d probably have something sympathetic and comforting to say. Raphael has nothing of the sort, nor can he come up with anything, and instead opts to keep his mouth shut.

“I can’t be here,” Garroway goes on. He’s taken to pacing alongside the bars of the cell, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “I _need_ to go find Jocelyn.”

“There’s nothing we can do from here,” Raphael says. “If you’re so sure that your Shadowhunter friends will come, then all you can do is wait for them.”

Garroway stops pacing and shoots him a furious glare. “ _I am aware of that_ ,” Garroway practically hisses. “I _know_ I can’t do anything but _wait_. That doesn’t mean that waiting is something that I _like_ or can tolerate!”

Raphael glances away, propping his elbow on his leg and resting his chin on his fist. Magnus sleeps on, and Raphael might just be imagining it, but his skin looks like it’s getting paler. Whatever is going on with Magnus’s father is definitely not as ‘fine’ as Magnus wants him to believe.

“What is your problem with Alec?” Garroway asks out of nowhere.

“That’s none of your business,” Raphael says, raising his eyebrows at the werewolf.

Garroway shrugs, then lets out a long sigh. All of that rage from earlier seems to leave him in a whoosh. “I was just wondering. You don’t have to answer. I just thought it’s strange, since you don’t really have an issue with any of the others.”

Raphael considers this. He glances briefly at Magnus, then back to Garroway.

“During the Uprising,” Raphael says quietly, and Garroway flinches a bit at the mention, “Maryse Lightwood ran Magnus through with a seraph blade. After everything was over, the only reason she escaped punishment is because of her son.”

He remembers six days of waiting, of fear. He remembers the following decades of hatred and anger against that one woman, and how easily that hatred bled over to Alec Lightwood once he started getting close to Magnus.

But how much of that is Raphael blaming Lightwood for his mother’s sins and how much of that is Raphael’s resentment of Lightwood’s intrusion into their lives, their family?

“That’s not Alec’s fault,” Garroway says slowly, though not unsympathetically. He glances between Raphael and Magnus, like he’s considering something.

“I am aware of that,” Raphael says with a glare, parroting Garroway’s own words back at him. “Besides, that’s not my only problem with him. Given everything that’s happened, it’s probably not even my _biggest_ problem with him.”

Garroway tilts his head a little, confused. “What would that be, then?”

Raphael lets out a low, short laugh. It is completely devoid of humor and it feels a little broken.

“Now _that_ ,” he says, voice harsh, “is _completely, definitely_ not any of your fucking business.”

To his credit, Garroway accepts the response with a polite nod, then turns back to staring out the cell bars.

Raphael turns back to Magnus, who continues to sleep on.

\---

Raphael remembers:

It is sometime in the eighties. He and Magnus are going on one of their nightly strolls throughout the city. They don’t really have a destination in mind, but that’s not an issue. It’s relaxing to just walk around, see what changes the new week has brought to the ever-changing landscape of New York.

Somehow, they’ve gotten onto the subject of Raphael’s father.

“My father’s a piece of shit,” Raphael says to Magnus. “I don’t know if Mama’s told you anything about him.”

“A few things,” Magnus tells him quietly. “She told me a little about how they met and got together.”

Raphael makes an irritated sound at the back of his throat and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, leaning his body forward. “I don’t give a _shit_ about that,” he spits. “He was terrible. Always. To all of us. It’s why we left.”

Very carefully, Magnus asks, “Always?”

Raphael slows to a stop, and Magnus follows suit. They’ve come to the edge of the river, which is inky black against the night. The moon above is full and bright, its reflection scattered across the waves in the water. On the other side of the river, Raphael can see another part of the city, lights from dark skyscrapers floating both high and low.

“I have this memory,” Raphael begins softly, still facing the water. “In it, I’m riding on a man’s shoulders. My father. It’s nighttime, and around us, fireworks are going off. We’re walking down a street and my mother is to my left. There are flowers in her hair and she’s smiling and both of her hands rest on top of a bump in her stomach. It’s Miguel, though of course, I didn’t know that at the time. But that’s how I know I must’ve been around two.”

Raphael looks down, scuffs his shoes against the ground. “In the memory,” he goes on, “I’m pointing up at the fireworks. My mother is laughing and my father is singing an old folksong. We’re _happy_ , the three of us, and I feel _safe_. But then the memory ends. And everything after that is fear and anger and violence.”

“I _hate_ that memory,” Raphael growls, hands clenching into fists as he directs his angry glare straight forward. “It’s just this _stupid_ reminder of what we could’ve been. And he had to go and _ruin_ all of it.”

Magnus is silent for a long, long time. He stands beside Raphael, a steady and calm presence, looking out over the water.

In the silence, Raphael can hear the sounds of the river and of faraway cars. He can hear Magnus’s heartbeat, which, like all warlocks’, beats slower than a mundane’s. Briefly, Raphael wonders if there’s a reason, for that.

“The good memories that a person gives you, no matter how many there are, don’t make the bad ones okay,” Magnus starts, voice hushed. He continues looking out over the water as well, and his gold eyes glow in the night. “But I think that you can still hold both in your mind. I think that you can mourn who a person was and who they could’ve been while simultaneously despising the person they _are_ and _actually became_. I mean, as far as my own parents go, that’s something I think about a lot. They were good to me, before they found out what I was. Does everything terrible that happened after mean that everything good that happened before is worthless?”

Magnus sighs, gives his head a shake. “I don’t know,” he adds. “That’s just my thoughts. What do you think?”

Raphael thinks of that memory. The fireworks, his father’s strong shoulders. He had a good singing voice, Raphael remembers. He used to sing lullabies, before everything went horribly wrong.

“I think,” Raphael begins, turning to look at Magnus, now, and waiting for Magnus to look back before continuing, “that I much more prefer the fireworks we see whenever we all go to Coney Island together. And I think that I much more prefer when you and Mama sing along to songs on the radio while dancing in the kitchen, even if you’re horribly off-key.”

\---

Raphael begins to think that they might just end up dying, here. It’s a terrible thought, a terrible way to die.

He remembers at the beginning how he wanted nothing more than death, how he longed to step into the daylight and burn his existence out of the world.

Now, he just wants _more._ More time, more crazy adventures, more days spent by the ocean in Los Angeles.

He remembers at the beginning how much he despaired at his immortality, the thought of eternity stretched on ahead of him.

All of those thoughts are far, far away, and all he can think is that he wants so much _more._ Six decades, eight decades, it’s nowhere _near_ enough.

Centuries, forever, whatever he can grasp.

\---

The Shadowhunters do come for them, eventually. Well, two of the Lightwoods and Simon come, cutting through the cell bars with their seraph blades. Alec Lightwood immediately dashes to Magnus’s side and cuts off the manacles as well.

Magnus, who has been awake for a while now and seems to be getting worse by the minute, blinks up at Lightwood in surprise.

“You’re here,” Magnus says.

“Of course, I’m here,” Lightwood responds immediately, voice unwavering. “Where else would I be?”

Garroway embraces Simon, holding onto him tightly for a few moments before stepping back. “Where’s Clary?” the werewolf asks.

“She and Jace went to go find Sebastian,” Simon tells them all.

“We need to get out of here and find Clary and Jace,” Magnus says, struggling to stand. He stumbles and both Raphael and Lightwood reach out to catch him. For once, he and Lightwood don’t bother glaring at each other, both intent in their desire to help Magnus.

“And Jocelyn,” Garroway adds. “Sebastian still has her.”

Magnus nods and moves to take a step forward, but he nearly falls over. Raphael and Lightwood catch him, this time staying firmly rooted on either side of Magnus.

“What’s wrong?” Lightwood demands with large, worried eyes.

“It’s the effects of my father’s powers,” Magnus explains. “He wants me to call on him, so he’s making me weak.”

“What happens if you call on him?” Simon asks.

Magnus grunts. “Well, considering that he’s literally a demon, I’m going to go out on a limb and say _nothing good_.”

“You’re in no condition to be moving around,” Raphael tells Magnus. “Let alone take on Sebastian.”

“We can’t stay _here_ ,” Magnus says. “And I’m just going to slow everyone down.”

“You guys should go on ahead. Find Jace, Clary, and Jocelyn,” Lightwood decides. “We’ll follow behind you.”

He turns to Raphael and asks, “What about you?”

“I’m staying with Magnus,” Raphael informs him, no room in his tone for disagreement.

Lightwood just nods at him. “Alright, then.”

\---

While the others speed on ahead, desperate to find their family and stop Sebastian, Raphael, Magnus, and Lightwood slowly make their way through the dark tunnels of Edom.

Raphael thinks Magnus is pushing himself too hard, but Magnus resolutely ignores both him and Lightwood when they bring up taking a break.

“Nice of you two to finally get along,” Magnus breathes out.

Raphael and Lightwood both glare at him, then at each other.

“You’re not funny, Magnus,” Raphael informs him. “Try not to talk too much. You need to save your strength.”

Magnus just looks over at him and smiles.

The three of them travel onwards in silence, slowly making their way towards where it will all have to come to an end, one way or another.

\---

They get to the others just in time to see Clary Fray plunge a flaming sword through her brother’s chest.

Raphael sees the moment the sword enters and the fire flares white. Then, suddenly, the pure black of Sebastian’s eye fades like dissipating mist into a startling green, just like his sister’s and mother’s eyes.

Sebastian falls backwards, and all the shadowy demons in the large cavern fade away as well, fleeing throughout Edom as their leader collapses.

Raphael cannot hear the conversation that Clary has with her brother. He and the others stand off to the side, watching quietly as the two talk. Eventually, Fairchild inches towards her children, kneeling down by her son’s side. Garroway and Jace both approach them, but remain a respectful distance behind. There if their loved ones need them, but far enough away so as to not intrude on the moment.

Simon and Isabelle stand next to each other, hands clasped tight and shoulders pressed together. Simon is watching Clary with concern as Isabelle rubs his back reassuringly.

Magnus groans softly, and Raphael and Lightwood both focus back on him. They ease him to the ground gently, helping him to sit.

“Are you okay?” Lightwood asks.

“I’m fine, Alexander,” Magnus answers.

“We just need to get out of here, right?” Raphael asks desperately. “Then he can’t do this to you anymore, right?”

“Yeah,” Magnus breathes. “That’s right.”

A sob gets their attention and they turn to see Clary standing over her brother’s now-lifeless body. There is a small smile on Sebastian’s face, a peaceful calm that never even came close to crossing his features when he was alive.

There are tears running down Clary’s face and her mother wraps her up in a hug. After a moment, Garroway, Jace, and Simon join them as well.

Raphael sees them murmuring to each other, hugging each other close, and he unconsciously presses himself a little closer to Magnus.

Eventually, Clary breaks away and faces all the rest of them. Her eyes are still rimmed in red and there’s a tinge of fear in her expression.

“Sebastian said that there’s no way out of here,” she tells them, voice shaking.

“What?” Simon asks, voice pitching high. “That can’t be possible. That would mean that we’re _stuck_ here.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide as they come to the same realization.

“Wait,” says Garroway. “How did you guys get here?”

“We went to the Seelies,” Lightwood answers, voice hard. “We forced them into cooperating. They got us here, but they said we should be able to get back.”

“Did they say that you should be able to get back, or that they would make a way for you to get back?” Magnus asks, pushing himself to his feet. He gently waves off Raphael and Lightwood when they try to help him.

Lightwood frowns. “The first one. It was definitely the first one.”

“Ah,” Magnus says. “Well, then.”

Raphael knows the tones of Magnus’s voice.

“Magnus, do you know a way for us to get back?” Raphael asks.

“I do,” Magnus confirms. “It involves my father, though, so it’s not a particularly appealing option.”

“Seems like it’s our only option,” Garroway comments.

Magnus sighs. “It does, at that.”

He pauses then turns to look at Raphael. Magnus has a sad, sad smile on his face, and Raphael is suddenly filled with a sense of dread.

“Alright then,” Magnus says, clapping his palms together and closing his eyes.

He begins to speak. And at first, it sounds like he’s reciting a familiar prayer, but all the words are changed up. Heaven, to Hell. Hallowed, to unhallowed. As Magnus speaks the words, a potent _wrongness_ spreads throughout the cavern, so strong that Raphael thinks he might choke. He looks around at the others and they all seem to be reacting similarly.

A pool of shadows begins to gather several feet away from them all. There are things that look like black coils crawling their way out of the pool. A figure shrouded in black rises from the shadows, growing taller and taller as Magnus continues to speak.

Once the words are finished, Magnus drops his arms down to his side and blinks open his eyes.

There stands before them all, a tall man with long black hair and black robes. His skin is the same dark tan as Magnus’s and his eyes glow the same gold. He smiles when he sees them all, but his smile is _nothing_ like Magnus’s. It’s dark and vicious and _pure evil_.

“Father,” Magnus says, greeting the man—demon.

“My son,” the demon says, still smiling. “I was waiting for you to call.”

“Yes, and I was rather hoping I wouldn’t have to,” Magnus spits at him.

The demon clasps a hand to his chest. “What hurtful words to say to your own father.” He then turns to the rest of them. “Welcome, Shadowhunters, vampires, and werewolf to Edom. I am Asmodeus, ruler of this realm. You may know my name.”

Someone makes a choking sound. Raphael thinks it might be Jace. The only ones who are not surprised by the revelation are Raphael and Lightwood, and Raphael realizes that Lightwood knows a lot more than he initially thought. Raphael knows that this is one of Magnus’s most closely guarded secrets.

And yet.

“Stop wasting time, Father,” Magnus snaps. “You know what I want. I know what you want. Let’s make a deal.”

Asmodeus looks back to Magnus, that foul smile still on his face. “Are you quite sure, my son?”

Magnus nods, jerkily. “You will send them back. You will send them back _safely_ , and then you will _leave them alone_. The deal we make, that is between you and me _only_. No one else will owe you _anything_. Are we clear?”

“Magnus,” Lightwood interjects, voice sounding nearly hysterical. “Magnus, you’re talking like you’re not coming back with us. _Why_ are you talking like you’re not coming back with us?”

Magnus blinks, opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks like he’s going to _cry_.

“Magnus,” Raphael says with forced calm, stepping forward and grabbing Magnus’s wrist. “What does he _want_? Tell me, _please_.”

Slowly, gently, Magnus places his other hand over Raphael’s. “He wants my immortality.”

“Your immortality?” Lightwood echoes, staring at Magnus. “So, so he would turn you into a mortal?”

“Yes,” Magnus answers, turning to face him, hand slipping out of Raphael’s grasp. “He would turn me into a mortal. And all of my four centuries would catch up to me at once. I would quite literally crumble away into dust.”

“ _No_ ,” Lightwood declares vehemently. “That’s not an option. _No deal_. Do you hear me?” Lightwood turns on Asmodeus. “There’s no deal. You’re not taking his immortality!”

Asmodeus gives a very theatrical sigh. “Well, then, I suppose you’ll all be staying here.”

“Fuck that shit,” Raphael snaps, taking a step towards the demon. He hears Magnus hiss his name, but he ignores it. “You’re an all-powerful demon. It’s an easy feat for you to get us all home. Just _name a different price_.”

Asmodeus leers at him. “Ah, yes. One of the two Daylighters! What a delight to have you here!”

“Well,” Raphael snarls. “It certainly _hasn’t_ been a delight to _be_ here. So, if you could just do something about that, that would be wonderful.”

“ _Raphael_ ,” Magnus hisses, panic coating every corner of his voice, and drags him back forcefully. “ _Don’t_.”

Asmodeus looks between the two of them, considering. Raphael wonders what the demon knows, if he has to power to see what’s happened the past six decades.

“Name a different price,” Lightwood agrees. “ _Any_ different price. We’ll pay it.”

“So,” Asmodeus drawls, leaning on the syllable. “You’re my son’s Shadowhunter lover.” He turns to the others, who are all looking on in horror. “And I suppose that you’re all just his friends, then?” Finally, he turns to Raphael. “And what does that make _you_ , then?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Raphael growls at him.

Asmodeus shrugs, unfazed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, much. All of this will be over soon. You see, unfortunately for all of you, there is nothing I want besides Magnus’s immortality. So, my son, what will it be?”

“Alright,” Magnus says wearily.

But at the same time, Raphael, Lightwood, and literally everyone else very loudly declare their own protests.

“How wonderful!” Asmodeus laughs. “Look at how they care for you, Magnus. But it is not their agreement or disagreement in the end that matters, but yours.”

“Magnus,” Lightwood stresses, voice full of all the emotion and horror and _absolute fear_ that Raphael very much also feels at the moment. “You can’t do this. _You can’t._ You’ll _die._ ”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, eerily calm, and Raphael wants to shake him, get _some_ other reaction out of him than _this_. “If I don’t do this, then we _all_ die. You, me. Your sister, your _parabatai_. _All_ of us. Isn’t it better this way, if I’m the only one to die?”

“You _can’t_ ,” Lightwood sobs, and Raphael is no longer even listening.

Raphael stares and stares at Magnus, who is tightly clasping Lightwood’s hands, speaking in calm, loving tones. He stares and stares at Asmodeus, who is watching all of this with a disgusting, maniacal grin.

This can’t be happening. Raphael refuses to believe that any of this is _real._

Magnus can’t _die_.

His mother, his brothers, he can make _peace_ with those deaths, because they’re just the natural way of things. They would’ve passed on no matter what, and Raphael would’ve still had to deal with those deaths had he not been turned.

But Magnus is _different_. Magnus is a _constant_ , someone who has always been there and someone who always _will_. Magnus is not supposed to _die_.

This has to be a _nightmare_ , Raphael reasons. It’s the only explanation that makes _any_ degree of sense. It’s all a nightmare, and soon he’ll wake up. He’ll wake up in his room in the Dumort and everything will be fine.

Or, he’ll wake up in his room in Brooklyn, and _everything will be fine._

Or, he’ll wake up in Los Angeles, and _everything will be fine_.

Or, he’ll wake up back in Zacatecas, still a little boy, still _decades and decades_ in the past, and _all_ of this would’ve been some crazy, bizarre dream, and his biggest problem will be trying to protect his mother and brothers from his father.

Even _that_ is better than _this_ , because Raphael’s _survived_ that, already. This. _This_ is a _nightmare_ and Raphael refuses to believe that it’s _real_.

But then, Magnus is stepping away from Lightwood, giving him one last, long embrace. And Lightwood is crying, sobbing, _begging_ , and _falling apart_.

And then Magnus is walking towards Raphael, and Raphael feels rooted to the stop, unable to move, unable to even _blink_ , because none of this is _real_. It’s a nightmare, he reminds himself. A terrible, awful nightmare, but a nightmare nonetheless, and soon, he’ll wake up, and _everything will be fine._

Magnus is standing right in front of him now and places something in his palm. Raphael looks down. Sees the sunflower ring. Doesn’t understand.

_Nightmare nightmare nightmare._

_Please please please._

Magnus gently nudges Raphael’s hand closed around the ring, and when Raphael clenches his fist tight, he can feel the bite of the metal against his skin and that’s when he fully understands that this is all _real_.

“ _Magnus_ ,” Raphael pleads, voice breaking. “You can’t _do_ this. _Don’t_ do this, there _has_ to be another way. You _can’t_ _leave_ , we’re not _done_ yet! There’s still—you can’t—Magnus—Please—”

“Listen to me, Raphael,” Magnus says speaking over Raphael’s words, but Raphael keeps blabbering, begging, trying to make sense of all of this—

Magnus places both hands on his shoulders and shakes him, gently. “ _Listen_ to me, _mijo_.”

And that’s when Raphael shuts up, because that’s the first time Magnus has ever called him that.

All these years, all these decades. Everything they’ve shared and felt and _loved._ But Magnus has never used that term with Raphael or any of his brothers, just like how they’ve never used any father-term to refer to Magnus.

They’ve always been in this space of definitely, without a doubt family, but not-quite-Raphael’s-father, not-quite-Magnus’s-son. And it makes sense, because beyond just their familial relationship, they have not just a professional relationship as clan leader and High Warlock, but also a friendship as _equals_ , worked hard and fought for over the decades.

And yet. _And yet_.

“Raphael. Rapha. _Listen to me_ ,” Magnus repeats, implores, takes a deep breath as he fights back tears. “Don’t fight with your brothers over silly things, okay? Be kind to each other. And don’t be too hard on yourself. Be kind to _yourself_. Be careful when you go driving. Don’t go crashing cars into trees. I’ve heard that the airbags in mundane cars can do more harm than good. And when you’re tying a tie, remember that the fat end goes _over_ first, _then_ under.”

Magnus trails off, his voice breaking as he speaks. He takes another deep breath, then continues, “Remember that there is _good_ in the world, okay? When things are hard, if you can push through, you’ll find _something good_ at the end. If there is darkness, then there has to be light, as well. Sometimes things are awful, but that’s just the way the world _is_ , because there’s so much _goodness_ as well. And you are _so_ strong, stronger than you know.

“She would be _so_ proud of you, Rapha,” Magnus pushes on, even as they’re both crying, now. “She loved you _so_ much, more than _anything_. I’m so proud of you, too. I wish we had more _time_. There are still _so many_ things I want to show you, things I want to tell you. We were supposed to go to Hawaii, and in the far future, be space pirates. But there’s never enough time, is there? That’s what I’ve learned these past six decades. There’s _never_ enough time. All we can do is make the best with what we’ve got. And I have to say, I’m _very_ happy and _so grateful_ that we’ve got to have the time that we’ve had.”

Magnus shifts his hands up to cup Raphael’s cheeks, bending down to press their foreheads together. “I’m so sorry. Tell everyone that I’m sorry and that I love them all, very, very much.”

“ _Magnus_ ,” Raphael finally manages to say, his voice strangled and pained. Everything _hurts_ and he feels so small and _useless_.

“ _Live_ , Rapha,” Magnus says, kissing Raphael’s forehead. “ _Te amo, mijo_.”

And then he’s walking away. Away from Raphael, away from all of them. He is walking towards Asmodeus, who is watching all this happen with victorious glee, and Raphael’s reaching his hand out, trying to grab onto Magnus, _bring him back_ , stop this _nightmare_ from playing itself out, and—

There’s a flash of white light, and before he can even understand what’s happening, he blinks open his eyes and finds himself in the main entrance hall of the New York Institute.

And Magnus is _gone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE (PLEASE DON'T KILL ME), I ignore everything that happens canonically after CoHF (except the Jessa thing and the Ragnor thing), and Alec and Raphael finally bond (eventually).
> 
> Not sure when Ch. 3 will be out and I haven't started it yet. I wrote the first two in a few days, each, but I don't think I'll be able to do the same with Ch. 3. In part because it's probably going to be a lot darker and more difficult to write. Also because my LSAT date is coming up, and my brain is going numb from illogical logical reasoning stimuli, mind-breaking logic game rules, and way-too-dense reading comprehension passages.


	3. i left behind the home that you made me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the characters are in very bad mental states as the chapter opens, Raphael and Alec are eventually friends, and endings are eventually happy.

_**Fury** _

Once, when he was ten, Mario fell out of a tree and broke his arm.

Raphael remembers this happening vividly.

They were all walking through Central Park, and Mario was running ahead. At that age, he had this boundless energy that never ceases, regardless of how much he ran around. That’s how he ended up clambering up a tree, wanting to see how far out he could see from a higher vantage point.

He got pretty high before he slipped, letting out a small yelp as he plummeted towards the ground. None of them got to him in time, and Mario was cradling his arm and crying by the time they reached his side. Raphael could tell from the angle of Mario’s arm that it was pretty badly broken.

Mama immediately dropped to his side, hugging him close and murmuring to him gently. Magnus knelt down beside them, hands glowing blue. His magic snakes around Mario’s arm and glows bright. Within seconds, Mario’s arm went back to looking like normal and his tears ceased. And just like that, he was okay.

When this happened, Raphael shared a long look with Miguel, both silently remembering the home they’d left behind, and the person they’d left behind with it. Their father had broken bones before, had left them with injuries that wouldn’t just fade after a few days. When Raphael was eleven, he spent _months_ with his arm in a sling after his father had broken it after a particularly bad night.

But now, within just minutes, Mario was standing and beaming again, completely fine. The broken arm was nothing but an innocuous injury acquired out of typical childhood antics. Mario would never see a broken arm as a mark of cruelty and hatred. Their mother had made sure of that.

Their mother had taken them to a new land to protect them. She had stayed strong and fearless in the midst of all the terribleness, all so that they could grow and laugh and learn and _be safe_.

And Magnus had come into their lives with bursts of color and intrigue. Throughout the years, his magic had settled over them like a protective blanket, always there to soothe away injuries and tears.

But his mother is _dead_.

And now, _Magnus_ is dead, too.

So, what the fuck is Raphael supposed to do now?

\---

Raphael lies on his bed in the Dumort and tries very hard to think of nothing. It is pitch-black in his room, the curtains completely blocking out the light from outside. The windows of the Dumort are typically boarded up, but after the Daylighter thing, he tore the boards over his window down, let the sunlight stream in.

Now, he lets the darkness of the room wash over him. He lies in his bed curled into a tight ball, the jacket Magnus got for him wrapped tightly around him. In his hands, he grips tightly onto the sunflower ring and his mother’s cross.

It’s been five days since the blinding white light dropped them back in New York, five days of lying here in the dark, unmoving. And there’s still a small, small corner of his mind that earnestly believes that he’s going to _wake up_ , _any moment now_.

But he doesn’t wake up.

Instead, someone knocks on his door.

A lot of people have been knocking on his door, these past five days. Lily. Elliott. Simon.

Lily talks to him through the door, sometimes. Begs him to talk to her, begs him to come out. Assures him that she’s looking after the rest of the clan, lets him know what’s been going on outside of the darkness he’s locked himself into.

He ignores all of them, and they eventually leave him alone.

Except this time, Lily _doesn’t_ leave him alone.

“Tessa Gray is downstairs,” Lily says through the door. “She wants to see you.”

Raphael ignores this.

“Actually, she said that she _needs_ to talk to you,” Lily goes on, sounding agitated and very concerned. “If you want to know her exact words, she said ‘I need to speak to Raphael, now.’ She was quite firm about it.”

Raphael ignores this, as well.

“She says it’s about Magnus.”

At this, Raphael flinches, hard, but now she has his attention.

Lily is staunchly refusing to say anything else, her own way of forcing him to acknowledge the conversation before carrying on. He roughly pushes himself up and swings his feet off the bed. He shoves the ring and cross into his pockets before stalking quickly towards the door and slowly prying it open.

Through the crack of the door, he can see Lily staring straight at him with worry. But there is also a determined set to her expression as she patiently waits for him to say something.

“What about Magnus?” he asks, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“She wouldn’t say,” Lily answers. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Raphael closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists, letting his fingernails pinch tightly against his skin. The pain is sharp, but it doesn’t cause him to wake up. Because this _isn’t_ a nightmare, it’s _real_.

“Fine,” Raphael says, forcing his eyes open and squaring his shoulders. “Fine. You said she’s downstairs?”

Lily nods and takes a step back as he fully opens the door. The hall is eerily quiet when he steps out into it. As he moves through the hall and down the many flights of stairs, he finds the same silence settled over the rest of the Dumort as well.

But he can also feel that he’s being watched, catches glimpses of people ducking behind walls and doors whenever he spots them. They’re all giving him a wide berth; Lily, Elliott, and Simon are the only ones who’ve talked to him at all, these five days.

Tessa sits in one of the chairs in the meeting hall on the second floor. There’s a Shadowhunter sitting next to her, and they’re holding hands. It’s Zachariah, or whatever his real name is.

Tessa’s eyes are rimmed in red and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days, but she gives a weak little smile when Raphael walks in. He stands across from her and Zachariah, but doesn’t sit.

“Hey,” Tessa greets, standing up. “How are you feeling?”

Raphael very much does _not_ want to get into that. “What’s going on?” he asks instead, gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and giving himself a squeeze.

“Catarina called me, earlier today,” Tessa says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Magnus made her executor of his will. She wants us all to meet at the Brooklyn loft so we…can talk about that.”

Raphael hasn’t been by the Brooklyn loft since they got back. This is not by choice. He would’ve holed himself up in Brooklyn instead of the Dumort if he could have. But Lightwood had gotten to the loft first, five days ago, and claimed it for himself, locking the doors and refusing to let anyone else in.

“His will,” Raphael repeats flatly.

Tessa nods solemnly. “Yeah.”

Right. Because that’s what happens when people _die_. Other people gather around and read off their will. They did the same for Raphael’s mother when she died, after her funeral, and now they’re going to do the same for Magnus, because Magnus is _dead_.

And they haven’t had a funeral for Magnus because there’s _no body_. Magnus just crumbled away into ash while the rest of them were pushed away, back to New York. There’s nothing for them to bury or cremate or do anything with. There’s just _nothing._

It still doesn’t make _sense_. Why can’t Raphael just _wake up_?

“Fine,” he snaps, wrapping his arms tighter.

\---

In Brooklyn, Catarina and Lightwood are already waiting for them, sitting next to each other on the couch. They both look miserable. Lightwood in particular, since he doesn’t have magic to take care of things for him. There are dark bags under his eyes, his skin is sallow and sickly looking, and his hair is a tousled greasy mess.

Raphael suspects that he doesn’t look that much better himself, though he hasn’t looked in a mirror. Catarina and Tessa are at least presentable, as is Zachariah.

Catarina gets to her feet when they walk in and immediately goes to embrace Tessa. Lightwood looks up, recognition flashing in his eyes when he spots Tessa, confusion when he sees Zachariah, and then glares with hatred at Raphael. Raphael glares right back at him, with the same degree of viciousness.

Magnus would not be happy with either of them if he saw this. But Magnus isn’t here to judge, on account of him being _dead_.

 _Fuck_. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

“Alec,” Catarina says, letting go of Tessa. “You’ve met Tessa, right?”

Lightwood nods. “When we were in Paris,” he answers, barely above a whisper.

“It’s good to see you again,” Tessa says gently. She then nods at Zachariah. “This is Jem.”

“James Carstairs, though everyone calls me Jem,” says Zachariah—Jem. He nods politely at Lightwood.

Catarina returns to the couch, gesturing for the rest of them to sit as well. Tessa and Jem sit on the other couch, set across from where Catarina and Lightwood are. Raphael grabs one of the plush armchairs from by the window and sits adjacent to the four of them.

For a long, several minutes, they all sit in the oppressive silence. No one seems particularly keen on speaking, or getting on with why they’re all gathered here.

There’s a thick white envelope on the table between the two couches, and Lightwood keeps glaring at it like it’s offended him somehow. He also keeps looking at the rest of them like he wants them all to leave.

Eventually, Catarina reaches forward and picks up the envelope. She carefully breaks the wax seal and pulls out two sheets of paper. Setting the envelope back down, she straightens out the papers, giving the first page a glance.

“Okay,” she begins, clearing her throat when her voice cracks. “Okay. I’ll just…It says here that he last updated his will in early October.”

“That right after we got back from Idris,” Lightwood says, head snapping up in shock. “After we defeated Valentine.”

“It is,” Catarina says with a frown. “He says here that his will is only going to concern the Brooklyn loft, and all of his belongings there. Here. He says that all of his other assets—properties around the world, valuable artifacts, the contents of his bank accounts, and so forth—will be given to a predesignated inheritor. This person will be notified of the inheritance a week after Magnus’s death.”

Her voice goes soft on the last word, as if scared to say it aloud.

A week. That’s in two days. It’s almost been a _fucking_ week.

“He doesn’t mention who the inheritor is,” Catarina goes on. She sets the page down next to the envelope, then skims over the remaining page. “That’s all that’s mentioned there. The rest deals with the Brooklyn loft. I’ll read it verbatim.

“‘Ownership of my loft in Brooklyn and the contents therewithin will be dealt with as follows’,” she begins. Her voice is clear and her tone is calm, but it all sounds very, very forced. “‘Firstly, I address my apothecary and everything inside, including ingredients, potions, and ideas for spells. I leave all these items to Catarina Loss.”

She breaks off, here, as if surprised to see her own name. She stares down at the paper for a moment, then up at the rest of them. Taking a deep, measured breath, she clears her throat and continues reading.

“‘Secondly, I address my collection of books, scrolls, and other literary artifacts. I leave all of these items to Tessa Gray.”

Tessa sucks in a sharp breath and looks like she’s going to cry. Jem wraps one arm around her shoulders and grips her hand consolingly.

“‘Thirdly’,’” Catarina continues, and Raphael notices that her hands are shaking a little, now, “‘I address my jewelry, clothes, hats, and other fashion items. I leave all these items to Alexander Lightwood.”

Lightwood chokes back a sob then buries his head between his knees, running his fingers through the back of his head in frustration.

Catarina sends him a worried look and gently squeezes one of his hands. After a moment, he raises his head up and squeezes her hand back. A tear slides down his face and he angrily wipes it away.

“‘Finally, I address full ownership of the Brooklyn loft and all items not specified above. I grant full ownership of the loft and leave all items not specified above to Raphael Santiago.”

Raphael stares at her as she sets the paper down. Lightwood is staring as well, though his particular shade of shock has hints of horror and outrage in it. He turns a glare at Raphael, as if this is somehow all his fault. Raphael glares back.

“That’s everything,” Catarina says quietly, folding her hands in her lap. “He didn’t leave anything else.”

And that’s all there is. A few paragraphs written on a page, a few items passed on to other people. Empty words that provide no comfort, that do _nothing_ to make anything make _sense_. A large loft full of memories, yet at the same time so very _empty_ and _cold_.

What is he supposed to do with all this? What is having all this even supposed to _do_? The loft is Magnus’s loft, with designs that change with Magnus’s mood, with the warmth of Magnus’s magic lingering through the whole room, with Magnus’s voice and laughter and _presence_.

But Magnus isn’t _here_.

That orange rug that Magnus was considering replacing will just stay there, untouched. Magnus’s magic will slowly fade away, and even Raphael can feel that the wards are beginning to die. The loft will be silent, empty, dark, drained of the life that has filled it for nearly a century.

The loft is _nothing_ , without Magnus.

And that’s all there is. A big, fucking heap of _nothing._

Raphael stands abruptly, and they all turn to look at him. He stares first at the envelope and papers, then looks at each of them in turn.

He could kick them all out, he realizes. The loft is _his_ now, apparently, for some reason. He can order them all out, refuse to let anyone else be here, just like Lightwood has been doing for the past five days until now.

The loft is _his_ , and there’s something hysterical about that, because he _loves_ this place, _loves_ spending the night or day sleeping in his room, _loves_ the view of the city from the balcony, _loves_ sitting by the window and having long conversations about anything and everything with Magnus—

But now, that’s just _gone_. And it’s like early days again, when this is somewhere that he _hates_ , somewhere he _fears_. A reminder of _awfulness_ and being separated by everyone he loves.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything to them at all. He just stalks off to his room and slams the door behind him, sliding the lock into place.

He throws himself onto the bed and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping beyond hope that somehow, _somehow_ , he’ll just fall asleep and wake up to find that this is all just a bad dream.

A very bad, very long, very horrifying dream, but still _just a dream_.

 _Please_ , he begs, hopes, prays. _Just let this all be a dream._

\---

The banging on the front door refuses to go away, no matter how long Raphael ignores it by burying his head under his pillow and his body under the blanket. It is sometime in the middle of the day, which is probably the only reason that none of the neighbors have come to complain, yet.

The banging persists and Raphael grits his teeth and persists in his own ignorance of it. They’ll get tired and go away, eventually.

He hears footsteps moving through the loft, outside his own room. Lightwood. After the will reading two days ago, Catarina, Tessa, and Jem all left. Lightwood stayed, though, and he’s been cooped up in Magnus’s room just as Raphael has been cooped up in his own. They’re both aware of the other’s presence, and both equally intent on ignoring the other.

Now, Raphael hears Lightwood walking towards the front door, apparently less able that Raphael to just ignore it and hope that it’ll go away.

He hears the front door open, hears Lightwood start to say something, hears _Miguel_ and _Mario_ ’s voices, yelling angrily and demanding—

Fuck.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Raphael practically throws himself out of his bed and rips his door open, getting to the front door and stepping in front of Lightwood in a matter of seconds.

“What are you doing here?” Raphael blurts at Miguel and Mario.

Miguel looks at him with pure, unadulterated rage. “What am I doing here?” he snaps. “ _What am I doing here_? Are you fucking kidding me with that? How about _you_ explain _this_ to me instead?”

He furiously waves a sheet of paper around, and Raphael has to struggle to snatch it out of the air.

The paper is all crumpled and ruined. It looks like someone gripped the edges of it so tightly that they ripped through the paper. It looks like it’s been crumpled up into a ball _multiple_ times.

“It came in the mail this morning,” Miguel spits. “I was _hoping_ that you would like to _explain_ this to me.”

It’s one of those form letters that people get in the mail, usually to notify them of something, all typed up and simplistic in design. Insert a specific name here, insert some specific information there. Everything else holds constant.

The letter his brother has handed to him is a notice of acquisition of assets, or something like that. Admittedly, Raphael does not get very far at all before he realizes why his brothers are here and why Miguel is looking at him with hatred and why Mario can’t stop crying.

The first sentence, right after the salutation acknowledging Miguel as the recipient of the letter, reads:

_You are receiving this letter because Mr. Magnus Bane has designated that you and your family shall inherit the following assets following the event of his death._

Fuck.

He looks up from the letter, finds Miguel glaring at him, finds himself unable to say anything. He is aware of Lightwood reading the letter over his shoulder, but he can barely even react to that right now.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Raphael blurts out, since it’s the first fully coherent thought that pops into his mind.

The rage on Miguel’s face only intensifies, but Mario places a trembling hand on his shoulder.

“We found a warlock and paid her to make a portal for us,” Mario tells him, sniffling and blinking away tears. “That’s not important. _Rapha_ , tell us what’s going _on_.”

“ _You found a_ —”

“ _Enough_!” Miguel cuts him off. “Who _cares_ how we got here? Do you think any of that is important right now? What _is_ important, is that you _explain_ this to me,” Miguel demands through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at Raphael. “This is some kind of joke, right? That’s what this is. Some fucked-up, convoluted joke.”

Raphael just stares at him, helpless. Miguel glares, furious, and Mario stares back, imploring.

“I’ll just,” Lightwood cuts in all of a sudden. He edges towards the door, skirts around Miguel and Mario, and disappears down the hall.

The three brothers stare after him for a little bit, then turn all their attention back on each other.

“Well, Raphael?” Miguel practically growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m still waiting for that _explanation_. Because there _is_ an explanation for this, right? Because if you can’t come up with one, the only one I can think of is that Magnus _died_ ,” he chokes on the word, but forces himself to continue, “and _you_ for some reason, neglected to _tell us_. And I mean, surely _that_ explanation _can’t_ be true, _can it?_ ”

“Miguel,” Raphael says, but can’t get any further.

His expression must be saying something horrible, though, for Mario makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat then takes a tentative step forward.

“What happened?” Mario asks in a whisper. “You said things were going to be fine. Magnus mentioned something about a meeting with the, uh, Seelies? And then we didn’t hear from either of you, after that. Did something happen there?”

“It was a trap,” Raphael forces himself to say. “They were working with Sebastian. We got stuck in Edom for a while. But then the Shadowhunters got rid of Sebastian. But then we couldn’t get back. And Magnus…”

“ _What_?” Miguel demands.

“He got us out,” Raphael says flatly, refusing to look at his brother. “But he didn’t…He had to trade his immortality to get us out. So.”

His voice was barely perceptible by the end, but his brothers hear him anyways. When he glances at them, Mario has a hand clasped over his mouth in shock, while Miguel is still just glaring at him.

“When was this?” Miguel asks, eerily quiet.

Raphael shrugs. “A week ago.”

“A _week_?” Miguel exclaims. “You kept this from us for a whole _week_?”

“I forgot—”

“How could you _forget_?” Miguel screams at him, and Raphael has the vague thought that it’s probably not good for someone of Miguel’s age to be getting this agitated. “This is not the kind of thing you just forget! You’re just making excuses—”

“ _Shut up_ , Miguel,” Raphael snaps. “You weren’t _there_. You don’t know what this past week has been like. I, I couldn’t _think_ , I could barely—I wasn’t—It just _slipped my mind_. I _forgot_. It wasn’t _intentional_ , not like you picking a fight with Magnus and then _refusing to call him back_ all the way until he—”

 _Died_ , Raphael’s brain supplies, but the word dies in this throat. And then his brain fully catches up with what he just said to Miguel, and he feels horror settling into his bones, and it echoes the look of horror on Miguel’s face.

Mario suddenly steps in between them, placing one hand firmly on Miguel’s chest and the other on Raphael’s, forcing them both apart.

“That’s _enough_ ,” Mario hisses. “From _both_ of you. What do you two think this is going to accomplish? Raphael, it was shitty of you to not tell us for _a whole week_ and make us find out through a _letter_. Miguel, it was shitty of _you_ to refuse to turn calls just because of some _stupid disagreement_. What’s _even more_ shitty is that the two of you are still insisting on fighting despite everything that’s happened!”

Raphael takes a step back. Miguel takes a step back. Mario takes several, very deep breaths, and wipes furiously at the tears falling down his face.

None of them have anything to say, now, and they all just stand there in silence, refusing to look at each other.

Raphael stares numbly at the letter, glazing over the words.

 _You and your family_ , the stupid letter reads.

 _Designated inheritor_ , he remembers from the stupid will.

As if Magnus leaving them all of this makes anything _better_. As if doing that changes _anything._ All of it is just _empty_ , like the loft. It’s all nothing but a terrible reminder that Magnus is gone.

All of a sudden, Raphael’s legs go weak and give out from beneath him. He finds himself kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around himself. A sob rips itself out of his chest, his throat, and he finds himself crying in front of his brothers for the first time that he can remember.

He’s the oldest. He’s supposed to be the _strong_ one, the _brave_ one. The one who always knows what to do and looks after the rest of them.

But he _doesn’t_ know what to do, and all he knows is that there’s this stabbing pain in his chest that refuses to go away. All he knows is that Magnus is _gone_ , and he feels like he’s just had the rest of his life _brutally_ ripped away from him. All those talks, and goals, and plans…

Raphael falls apart in front of his brothers, all the grief and horror and anger of the past week washing over him, and there’s nothing that any of them can do.

\---

It’s been a month since Magnus’s death, and Miguel is refusing to speak to him. Instead, Raphael calls Mario once a day, and they share a painfully short and stilted conversation. They talk around Magnus’s death more often than they actually address it, and the phone calls always leave Raphael feeling worse than before it started.

Raphael and Lightwood are both still living in the Brooklyn loft. They avoid each other’s eyes on the rare occasions that they run into one another and don’t say anything at all. As of yet, Lightwood hasn’t expressed any intention to _leave_.

One day, Raphael wanders into Magnus’s bedroom. Lightwood is out somewhere, so it’s empty. Inside, the curtains have been drawn tightly shut, not allowing any daylight into the room. With his enhanced senses, Raphael can smell sweat and tears and unwashed clothes.

He makes his way to Magnus’s walk-in closet, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and exactly where to find it. There’s a big wooden chest at the back of the closet, sitting below a row of Magnus’s fancy long coats. The wood is thick and polished, and Raphael runs a hand over the golden clasp on the front before dragging it out.

It’s a bit of a hassle to push across the floorboards, but eventually, Raphael gets it nearly all the way to the door of Magnus’s bedroom before Lightwood walks in.

“What are you doing?” Lightwood demands immediately, haunted expression flipping into a baleful glare in the time it takes for Raphael to blink.

“None of your business,” Raphael snaps at him, trying to move around the Shadowhunter.

Lightwood vehemently does not allow this to happen. “It very much _is_ my business. This is _my_ room. You can’t just wander in here—”

“Your room?” Raphael says incredulously. “ _Your_ room? It’s _Magnus’s_ room, not yours. You have no claim to it—”

“Yes, I _do_ , he left it to me—”

Raphael scoffs. “He left you his clothes and jewelry. This room is neither. This,” he goes on, gesturing angrily at the chest, “is also neither. Now, get out of my way.”

“You can’t just _take_ it,” Lightwood snarls at him.

“In case you forgot,” Raphael growls, “he left _me_ the loft, so I can do whatever the fuck I want. I could even kick _you_ out, if I so felt like it!”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Lightwood growls back, arms crossed angrily over his chest. He’s both taller and broader than Raphael, and uses that to his advantage, looming over him menacingly. “This place is _mine_ as much as it’s _his_. You can’t just _claim_ it for yourself, no matter what that stupid piece of paper says. I’m his boyfriend, I _love_ him—”

“You knew him six months!” Raphael snaps, the words bursting out of him faster than he can think about them. “Six months! That’s _nothing._ I knew him six _decades_. I’m his _family_. And you? You’re just the son of the woman who once stuck a fucking seraph blade through his chest!”

Lightwood gapes at him with open horror, and it takes far too long for Raphael to realize why.

“Fuck,” Raphael whispers, already regretting the words. Much more loudly, he goes on, “Lightwood, forget I said that. _I didn’t say that_ , do you hear? You didn’t hear it, I didn’t say it, it didn’t happen. Lightwood? Are you listening?”

Lightwood does not appear to be listening. He just stares at Raphael, and Raphael can see him slowly starting to put something together within his mind.

“I need to go,” Lightwood states. “I have to…”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but Raphael can venture a pretty good guess regardless. Lightwood is gone before he can say anything else.

Raphael stares after him. Magnus never wanted Lightwood to know this. He’d probably be _so angry_ at Raphael for letting Lightwood know.

But Magnus isn’t _here_.

\---

Once he’s back in his own room, Raphael pushes open the lid to the chest and stares at the contents inside.

There’s a collection of photo albums, all stacked on top of each other. They’re labeled, too, either with a time frame or a location. Some are from before New York, and he knows that his mother left them in Magnus’s possession after she died. The others are from all of these decades since.

There’s the album that his mother and Magnus put together when Magnus was designing Pandemonium. There are several framed photographs laid neatly on top of each other. There are stacks of drawings and cards that Raphael’s brothers made when they were kids, the paper kept flat and unwrinkled through some magic.

Raphael takes each item out, turns it over in his hands. He lets himself sit in the memory of the items. He stares at the photograph of all seven of them standing in front of the wheel at Coney Island. He stares at that photograph of his mother that Magnus took, the one they used for her funeral. He stares at the photo of his mother and Magnus dancing together at Mario’s wedding.

They’re layers upon layers of beloved memories, of Raphael’s _life_. He remembers that his mother and Magnus would always take the items out around the holidays, and they’d all sit in a circle, passing photographs around and reminiscing about the past.

At the bottom of the chest, Raphael finds a manila envelope he’s never seen before. Frowning, he lifts it up and turns it over. The front of it reads: _Do not open until 31 Aug. 2037._

It’s Magnus’s handwriting.

And that date is Raphael’s birthday. His _one-hundredth_ birthday, to be exact.

Raphael stares at it numbly, only half-comprehending, and opens the envelope.

Inside, he finds another envelope, though it is the typical standard white kind. The same message and also his name are written on the front of it, this time in his mother’s handwriting.

Raphael stares at it for so long that his hand begins to shake. It doesn’t take him long to work out what this is.

His mother wrote him a letter meant to be opened on his one-hundredth birthday, a day she knows to be particularly special because Magnus talked about it, a few times. She wrote him a letter for that day, because she knew she wouldn’t _live_ to see that day, but she wanted him to have something, anyway. And she gave that letter to Magnus to hold onto, because she knew that Magnus _would_ live to see that day.

But now, Magnus _won’t_ live to see that day because Magnus is _dead_.

With shaking hands, Raphael hastily shoves the white envelope back in the manila one, piles everything back into the chest, and slams the lid shut.

He buries himself under the blankets on his bed and refuses to think about anything at all.

\---

“Tell me,” Lightwood demands.

Raphael is sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, looking numbly out over the city. All the lights in the loft are off, so the city lights from outside provide the only illumination for the room.

Lightwood is standing in front of him, having just stormed through the front door with zero preamble. He looks incredibly agitated, his hair a mess like he’s been pulling at it, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever.

“Tell you what?” 

“About my mother. And Magnus.”

Raphael looks away. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

“I did,” Lightwood says with exhaustion, then sits down in the chair across from Raphael’s. “At first, she just went on about how she couldn’t remember if it even happened. Then, she started talking about how she was just doing as she was told. Then, she refused to tell me anything else. So, I need you to _tell me_.”

“Magnus didn’t want you to know,” Raphael says quietly, giving him a considering look.

“Yeah, well, Magnus isn’t _here_ , is he?” Lightwood bursts out, something like anger making its way into his voice.

He flinches as soon as the words leave his mouth, as does Raphael. The words leave them sitting in silence for a long time while Raphael tries to come to a decision.

“One night, during the Uprising,” Raphael begins slowly after a while, and Lightwood’s head snaps up to stare right at him. “I got into a skirmish with a group of Shadowhunters. I managed to get away, but I was significantly weakened. I couldn’t use my enhanced speed or strength or anything like that.

“That’s when I ran into your mother. She wanted to kill me, because that’s just what people like her did, back then. She had her seraph blade, and she was going to kill me with it, but Magnus appeared and stepped in, and she ended up driving the blade through his chest, instead. Magnus managed to get us away from her and portaled us to Catarina’s apartment. She healed him, but he was unconscious for _six days_.”

Lightwood swears, viciously. “I didn’t know.”

Raphael scoffs. “Of course, you didn’t. Why would you? Magnus didn’t want you to know. And I doubt that your mother would volunteer the information, especially considering that she didn’t even tell you she was involved in the Uprising in the first place.”

Lightwood looks horrified, like he’s going to be sick.

“And then,” Raphael goes on, interlocking his fingers to keep his hands from shaking. “The Uprising ended, and the Clave set about punishing all the Shadowhunters involved. And I thought, _finally,_ Maryse Lightwood is going to get what she _deserves_. She is going to _suffer_ for what she did to Magnus. But that didn’t end up happening, did it?”

Lightwood flinches, and Raphael knows that he knows where this is going, that he doesn’t actually need to _say_ it.

But he wants to. He oh, so _very much_ wants to.

“It didn’t. Because Maryse Lightwood has a _son_. And Shadowhunters can condone the _slaughter_ of Downworlder children, but God forbid that one of their own is left without parents! And so, Maryse Lightwood escapes punishment, escapes _justice_ , gets to go on and live her _life_ , even though so many innocents _died_ at her hand. And all I can think of are those six days I spent waiting for Magnus to wake up, _not knowing_ whether he’d wake up. And I was just _stuck_ there, feeling terrified and weak and alone, while a whole war continued to rage on, claiming the lives of my clanmates and _friends_. And at the end of all that, the person responsible for that just gets to _walk away_.”

Raphael is standing, now. He isn’t aware at what point in the conversation he stood up, but here he is, glaring down at Lightwood. The Shadowhunter stares back up at him with horror in his eyes.

“And now,” Raphael spits. “Now, she’s _still alive_ , still unpunished for her crimes. She still gets to go on doing whatever the fuck it is that she does. But Magnus _can’t_ , because he’s—”

Raphael can’t say the word aloud. It’s been a _month_ and he still can’t say the word aloud.

“Fuck this,” Raphael says, taking a step back, edging away from Lightwood. “Fuck all of this.”

He turns on his heel and stalks to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He feels like he’s falling through an endless pit. All unending terror and dread and misery, because he’s never going to hit the bottom and finally reach the end of this nightmare, nor will someone come to catch him and bring him back to the light.

His whole life, of everyone he’s ever loved and been loved back by in return, only his mother and Magnus have ever been capable of doing that, saving him.

And now, they’re both _gone_.

And even though his mother died four years ago and his father is probably long dead and gone as well, it isn’t until _now_ that Raphael really and truly feels like an _orphan_.

\---

 _ **Empty**_

“Mama,” Raphael whispers, staring at her gravestone. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

He’s sitting on the grass, knees tucked up to his chest and arms wrapped around his knees. It is dark out, barely any light at all on the night of the new moon. It’s rained, recently, and the grass is wet and mud is soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t care, barely even notices.

“I don’t know what to do,” Raphael says. “Miguel hates me, not that I really blame him. I get it. I’d hate me too, if I were him. Mario’s angry at me, too, and _none_ of us know what to do, and we can’t even _talk_ to each other long enough to figure it out.”

The gravestone says nothing back to him, not that he was expecting it to. But the silence cuts through him like a blade all the same.

“I remember, after Tony and Joaq died,” he says, glancing at his brothers’ graves as he says this, “you and Magnus held us all together. And then after you died, Magnus was the one who took care of all of us. But now, you’re both _gone_. So, what are we supposed to _do_?”

He closes his eyes and imagines his mother sitting with him right now, giving him a small, sad smile. He imagines her reaching out to rock him gently in her arms. But when he opens his eyes, he’s still alone in the graveyard, and his mother’s gravestone has nothing to say to him.

“I keep waiting for him to come back,” he admits, something he hasn’t said to anyone. Not that he’s actually talking to that many people, but the point still stands. “But that’s not going to happen.”

A tear slides down his cheek, and normally he’d try to fight it, not wanting to deal with the hassle of blood-tears. But he’s just so _exhausted_ and it’s dark and he’s alone, so he just lets the tears fall.

Magnus always had a way of finding Raphael when he was crying. Magnus would sit by him and cup his face in his hand, and his magic would be warm and gentle as he dried away Raphael’s tears.

But Magnus won’t do that for him ever, ever again, and the horridness of that realization only makes Raphael cry harder.

\---

It’s been a little over three months since Magnus’s death, and Raphael and Lightwood have more or less perfected the art of pretending that the other person does not exist.

Raphael basically lives in Brooklyn, now, as does Lightwood. They both have other duties to attend to, at the Dumort and Institute respectively, and they leave the loft only to attend to these duties. Raphael drops by the Dumort on most days, arranging patrols and holding meetings when necessary. Occasionally, he sleeps there when it gets busy, but most of the time, he always ends up returning to Brooklyn.

They’re all concerned about him, he can tell. Lily, Elliott, and Simon in particular. He knows that Simon probably knows a bit more since he’s dating Isabelle, and she’s no doubt worried about her brother.

Lily’s the only one who says anything, though.

“I’m worried about you,” Lily says, though her tone suggests that it’s simply a statement of fact rather than her fishing for a response. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He nods at her. “Thanks, Lily.”

He leaves the Dumort a bit after sunrise and uses his enhanced speed to get to the loft within a few minutes. When he walks in, he finds the Lightwood trio sitting on the couches. They’re all staring intently at each other.

All three of them look exhausted and frustrated, though while Jace and Isabelle have looks resembling desperation, their brother’s expression is all anger.

“I’m staying here,” Lightwood says, glaring at his siblings.

Jace and Isabelle exchange a quick glance.

“Look,” Isabelle says. “We’re not trying to say that you _shouldn’t_ be here. Just, it might be good for you to spend more than just a couple hours a day away from here.”

“No,” Lightwood responds immediately.

He looks up, then, notices Raphael, and his glare intensifies. The other two notice his presence as well, nodding at him in greeting. Raphael just watches them all through narrowed eyes. There hasn’t been anyone else in the loft since Miguel and Mario first came by three months ago, demanding answers. At least, not that Raphael has noticed. The sudden intrusion of Jace and Isabelle, even though he doesn’t mind them, makes him suddenly uncomfortable.

He remembers that there are no wards, anymore. Nothing to allow in welcome guests and keep out undesired visitors. The loft is cold without the presence of Magnus’s magic, and Raphael can feel that absence every day.

Yet, he keeps coming back here, unable to leave. Same with Lightwood, apparently.

Maybe they need to start setting rules, if they’re both going to be living here.

“So, what now?” Jace asks with a frown. He looks at both his brother and Raphael. “Do the two of you just plan on living here and ignoring each other for the rest of your lives?”

Lightwood looks properly angry at Jace now, balling his hands up into fists and pressing them against his legs.

“That’s not your business,” Raphael tells Jace, quietly. “At least, not so far as it has to do with me. If you want to drag your brother out of here, go right on ahead.”

Lightwood looks downright _furious_ with him now, but Raphael ignores him readily, heads off to his room silently, just as the two of them have been doing all these months.

\---

The streets of New York are taunting him with memories.

As he walks through Harlem, he thinks of how the seven of them used to go for nightly strolls, Magnus’s magic keeping them warm in the winter and cool in the summer.

As he wanders close to Coney Island, he remembers nights spent riding roller coasters and playing fair games.

He sees the shadowy figments of all of them, taken from the past and superimposed into the present. He sees his brothers running around and laughing, with Magnus and Mama following close behind them, holding hands.

And slowly, slowly, the figments dwindle. The twins meet their deaths in a country Raphael still has not set foot in. Miguel and Mario drift away to Los Angeles, making their own homes. And then it’s just Raphael, his mother, and Magnus walking through the streets at night and having long conversations in the kitchen of the Harlem house.

The house is still there, still theirs. Their mother left it in Miguel’s name after her death, since even though Raphael is the oldest, it would probably be a legal nightmare for him to own it since he no longer exists in the mundane world’s records.

Framed photographs line the walls of the house and the couch and coffee table are still in the living room. There is a layer of dust over everything, which is new. Raphael doesn’t come here often. Maybe just a few times a year when he suddenly gets the urge.

But before, the inside of the house has always been pristinely clean. Magnus’s magic, a small spell to look after the beloved place even though none of them live here anymore.

But the spell is gone, died alongside Magnus.

Raphael traces a finger across the coffee table, watches as it leaves behind a trail in the dust. For the past twenty-odd years since his mother left New York for good, this house has been a sort of stasis point, preserving everything just as they left it.

The house is just _there_ , full of decades of memories and laughter and love, ready for them to come back to, should they feel like it.

But the dust shatters that illusion.

The house is _empty_ , just like Magnus’s loft, just like Magnus’s will. Again and again and again, _nothing_ but reminders that he is _gone_ , that he isn’t _coming back_.

In all honesty, the house stopped being a home as soon as his mother left during the Uprising. But that had been fine. Painful and infuriating at first, but in the end, fine. Because he still had Brooklyn, and to a lesser but still important extent, Los Angeles.

But he doesn’t _have_ Brooklyn, now, not in the ways that matter. And Los Angeles holds nothing by empty promises as well, with his brothers still rightfully furious at him and that city always being more _theirs_ than _his._

Zacatecas. Harlem. Brooklyn. Los Angeles.

Over and over again, his homes are ripped away from him, until he doesn’t even know what he has left.

\---

The top floor of the Dumort is not somewhere he goes often. It is filled entirely with suites, each themed around a different color. Belcourt’s old room in on the floor, and as she was the only one who stayed up here, it is completely unoccupied now.

He walks through the long and dusty hall, feet crunching against pieces of plaster that have come off the walls over the years. There are cobwebs gathered in thick clusters in the corners and a faint musty odor from disuse. While they don’t spend _that_ much time maintaining the rest of the hotel, the state of this floor compared to all the others makes it seem like it’s in a different building completely.

At the end of the hallway is a closed door and Raphael spends a good five minutes just staring at it numbly before going to open it with shaking hands. The hinges creak as he pushes it open and he finds himself in a room he hasn’t been in for over sixty years.

Everything is covered in varying shades of blue, from the peeling wallpaper, to the tattered curtains, to the rotting furniture. The hole in the ceiling is still there, a small patch of sunlight shining through to the center of the room. Raphael walks towards the light, remembering shoving his sire into it, remembering the man _howl_ and _burn_.

For a moment, he wonders if his sire’s ashes still coat the room, or if they’ve long been blown out through the windows or the hole in the ceiling.

For another moment, he wonders if he’ll find the bodies of his friends here, after all these years.

But there is nothing in the room to indicate that anyone’s been in here, that anyone _died_ in here. And of those who were there at any point throughout that day—his sire, his friends, _Magnus_ —Raphael is now the only one left. Raphael is the only one who holds those memories, now, who knows what happened.

He steps into the patch of sunlight and thinks about how his sire’s skin had boiled and turned red then black and smoked. The smell had been _atrocious_ , making him want to throw up. And then his sire had been nothing but a pile of ash, and Raphael remembers being _envious_ of that, wanting nothing more than to just put an end to everything.

But Magnus had stopped him, had pulled him away from the sunlight. And Raphael had hated him for that, at first, for denying him the _relief_ that he so craved.

But Magnus had taught him how to heal, how to _live._ Magnus had given him hope and gave him his _family_ back. Magnus had given him _love_ and _joy_ and a _home_ , and whenever Raphael would think about that day in this room and all that he _lost_ , he would realize that he had _gained_ so much more.

And then Magnus died.

And now, Raphael stands in this room where they first met, under the sunlight he couldn’t reach back then, and it doesn’t burn him.

He wants it to burn him.

He wants it to burn him, because if it burns, then all of this can be _over_. There will be no more days of numbly going through the motions, barely even living at all. There will be no more nights spent lying flat in his bed, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare, only to find that such a feat is impossible. There will be no more hours spent thinking about all the things they were supposed to do together, all throughout the years of the future, only to realize with painful clarity that they’ll never get to do any of that.

What was it that Magnus had said, back then? That _living_ is so much more than just breathing? Well, Raphael is doing neither of those things, now.

But the sun doesn’t burn him. An astounding miracle that Raphael had rejoiced at back then, but can’t help but _resent_ , now. It’s taking away his _escape_ , his choice to just _die_ , just as Magnus did back then.

And he finds, with a sense of horror, that he _hates_ Magnus, too, for leaving, for _dying_. He wants to run up to Magnus and shake him and demand _why_?

_Why did you have to die? Why couldn’t you find another way? Why did you have to leave me?_

But shouting those thoughts in his head, or even yelling them at the empty room, gets him no answers. Just like how speaking to his mother’s gravestone gives him nothing but silence. No matter how much he pleads or cries or begs, the result is the same.

A resounding nothingness, reminding him that he’s _alone_.

The sunlight dances on his skin, refusing to burn him, _free him_ , and he remembers crouching in the dark corner staring at the light as if it was his salvation. Only it wasn’t, and it did nothing for him, in the end.

And he remembers months later sitting in the chairs by the window, staring up at Magnus as if _Magnus_ was his salvation. And Magnus had saved him, time and time again, in more ways than Raphael thought possible.

Raphael steps out of the light, wanders back to that dark corner. He crouches down, wrapping his arms around himself and stares at the door.

Maybe, if he waits long enough, Magnus will come to find him. Magnus _always_ comes to find him when Raphael needs him, so maybe, all he needs to do is wait. If he just _waits_ , if he’s just _patient_ , then maybe, maybe, _just maybe_ Magnus will come _back_.

From that dark corner, unmoving, Raphael watches the sun go down and come back up, then go back down again.

Magnus never comes.

\---

Some days, Raphael doesn’t leave his room in Brooklyn at all. He just lies in his bed with an arm flung over his eyes to stop himself from crying. With his other hand, he holds tight onto the sunflower ring and his mother’s cross, clasping them over his heart.

Some days, Raphael dreams.

The dreams always start the same way. He sits up in his bed in Brooklyn and it’s a normal day, a day from _Before_. He gets out of bed and heads for his door and that’s when the dreams start to diverge.

Sometimes, he walks out the door and finds himself in the kitchen of the Harlem house. His brothers are all there and they’re all kids again. His mother and Magnus stand side by side at the sink, doing the dishes and telling them all stories.

Sometimes, he walks out the door and finds himself on the porch of the Los Angeles house. They’re all there again, though looking older now. They all sit on the porch chairs talking and laughing together as they watch the sun go down over the ocean.

Sometimes, he walks out the door and finds himself in Edom. Everything is dark and burning and he can smell death in the air. Around him, he can hear people screaming and crying. Asmodeus looms tall over him, the size of a skyscraper, grinning maliciously. Magnus is there in the dream as well, walking towards the demon, not stopping or turning back no matter how many times Raphael calls out his name. That dream always ends with Asmodeus squashing Magnus between his large hands and tears staining Raphael’s cheeks when he wakes up.

Sometimes, he walks out the door and finds himself in the living room of the loft, as it should be. And it’s almost _normal_ , because he can hear familiar sounds coming from the kitchen as Magnus moves around. He can almost delude himself into thinking this is real, except his head always feels too light and everything is fuzzy at the edges. It’s nothing but a dream, but one that he tries to stay in for as long as possible.

In the dream, Raphael takes a seat in his usual chair by the window. If the dream lasts long enough, Magnus comes to sit across from him, holding a porcelain teapot and two teacups. He sets a cup down in front of each of them and pours from the teapot. It turns to blood in Raphael’s cup and tea in Magnus’s.

Magnus picks up his teacup and gives Raphael a small, sad smile. “This isn’t healthy, Rapha,” he says.

Raphael picks up his own cup. “You don’t get a say,” he grumbles. “You went and fucking _died_. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

“No, I suppose not,” Magnus concedes.

“Why did you have to die?” Raphael demands, hand clenching so tightly around the handle of the teacup that it would break if it were real. It’s not real, though, just like this conversation isn’t, just like the Magnus sitting in front of him isn’t.

“Everyone dies,” Magnus says solemnly. “Even immortals. Even me.”

“No. Not _you_ ,” Raphael snaps, slamming the teacup down. “You’re not supposed to die. Everyone else, I can force myself to accept, but not _you_. We were supposed to have more time.”

“There’s never enough time, Rapha,” Magnus says, reaching out to clasp Raphael’s hands, and Raphael remembers Magnus saying those same words to him right before he died. “You’re always going to want _more_ , no matter how much time passed. But time runs out, eventually. It’s run out for me. But it hasn’t, yet, for _you_. You still have more time.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

Magnus frowns at him, and even in a dream, Raphael can still tell when Magnus looks like he’s going to cry.

“Don’t say that,” Magnus says softly, squeezing his hands.

“Why?” Raphael asks angrily. “You were supposed to be here with me. That was the whole _point_. I can’t keep Mama with me, I can’t keep my brothers with me. But I could keep _you_ with me, and that’s supposed to make everything _okay_ , in the end. We’re supposed to stay in New York until we get bored then go to Hawaii then go to see the world. _That_ _was the whole fucking point_ of having all that _time_. But you _died_ so what am I meant to do, now?”

Slowly, Magnus reaches out and cups his face. It’s a dream, so the touch is barely even there, no warmth to it at all. Just that alone makes Raphael want to break down and cry.

“I don’t know, Raphael,” Magnus tells him. “But that doesn’t mean that there’s _nothing_. There is something, there’s _always_ something. You just have to find it.”

The dream never gets any farther than that. It ends, shattering into pieces like glass, leaving Raphael jolting awake for real in his bed. The room around him looks just like it does in the dream, but when he steps out the door, it’s always to a loft devoid of Magnus.

Sometimes the loft is dead silent. Sometimes he can hear Lightwood moving around.

But Magnus is _never_ there.

Raphael wonders what Lightwood dreams about.

\---

Somehow, the season turns to summer while Raphael is barely aware of the change. It’s coming up on six months since Edom, and Raphael still sees Magnus walking away from him every time he closes his eyes.

Lily’s concern has reached new levels, but Raphael can hardly deal with that right now. She comes by as nearly as often as Jace and Isabelle do, all imploring him and Lightwood to _leave the loft, come home._

He and Lightwood both vehemently refuse. It’s the only thing they agree on.

One day, the person knocking on the door isn’t Lily, or Jace, or Isabelle. It’s Mario, and Raphael just blinks at him for a good while without saying anything. It’s just Mario, Miguel isn’t here, and Raphael doesn’t know whether he should feel relieved or disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I took a plane this time,” Mario says. “So, you don’t have to worry that I got involved in something you don’t want me to.”

“What are you doing here?” Raphael asks.

“I wanted to talk. Can we talk?”

Still a little in shock, Raphael nods at him and leads him into the loft. They walk towards the couches, and Raphael is suddenly conscious of the fact that neither he nor Lightwood has been putting much effort into keeping the loft clean. It’s not a _mess_ , but there is a considerable amount of dust gathered on nearly everything and the floors are probably in need of a good sweeping.

Right then, Lightwood just happens to exit his room and walk by, and there’s a long awkward moment where he and Mario just stare at each other.

Then, Mario smiles a little and holds out a hand for Lightwood to shake.

“I’m Mario,” he says. “Raphael’s younger brother.”

“Hi,” Lightwood says somewhat awkwardly, looking curiously between the two of them before shaking Mario’s hand.

“You’re Alexander, right?”

Lightwood flinches at that. “Just Alec,” he says, quickly. “The only person who calls me that is…”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but none of them need him to.

“Right, sorry,” Mario says, ever the politest of them all. “It’s nice to meet you, Alec.”

Lightwood nods at him. “I can leave, if the two of you need to talk.”

“Actually,” Mario begins, “could you stay for a little bit?”

“What’s going on, Mario?” Raphael asks with a frown.

Mario sighs, rubs a hand against his forehead. “Just, sit.”

He takes a seat on one of the couches, and after a moment’s hesitation, Raphael and Lightwood sit on the couch opposite him.

Mario doesn’t say anything at first, just clasps his hands together and places them in his lap. He looks exhausted, but also like he’s been putting in the effort to take care of himself, not just wandering aimlessly around the city or spending hours or even days cooped up doing nothing in a dark room.

“The kids want to have a memorial for Magnus,” Mario says, eyes focused on some point on the ground rather than on Raphael and Lightwood.

“A memorial?” Raphael says.

At the same time, Lightwood asks, “The kids?”

“Mine and Miguel’s kids,” Mario explains, looking over at Lightwood with a small smile. “You met Miguel last time, though maybe ‘met’ is a bit strong. Anyways, our kids—they’re all adults with kids of their own, but we still call them the kids—want to have a memorial, like we did for Mama.”

For their mother, they all gathered in the Harlem house and lit candles and prayed and had hushed conversations. It had been…fine, though Raphael’s mood at the time was not conducive to reacting positively towards anything. Right now, his mood is very much the same.

“A memorial,” Raphael repeats, flatly.

Mario lets out a long breath. “At the house in Los Angeles, by the ocean. It’s…I don’t really know. The kids are taking care of the whole thing. Miguel and I just watch the grandkids and try to explain to them what’s going on. It’s been…Well, the kids suggested it, and I think it’s a good idea. So, I came to let you know.”

Raphael imagines it, all of them standing by the beach with candles, talking about the fact that Magnus is gone. He hates this idea. He hates this idea _very much_.

“You didn’t have to come out all this way,” Raphael tells him instead, because they are on the other side of the country. “You could’ve just called.”

Mario gives him a pointed look. “I didn’t want to give you the option of walking away from the conversation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you have a habit of getting in your head when something bad happens,” Mario states, and Raphael can’t help but be surprised, because even though he would’ve expected that assessment from Miguel, he didn’t see it coming from Mario.

“It means,” Mario goes on, seemingly on a roll, “that you tend to suppress everything down and pretend the issue doesn’t exist. That’s not good for you, or anyone. So, I came here in person so we could actually have a conversation about this, rather than you just flat-out turning down the idea because you don’t like it. Also, I talked about it with the kids, and we thought it might be nice to invite Alec, as well.”

“ _What_?” Raphael snaps, while Lightwood gapes at Mario in shock.

His brother gives him yet another pointed look, but then turns his attention to Lightwood. “It’s your choice, of course,” Mario says with a polite smile, “but you’re more than welcome to come.”

“Mario—”

“We’ve talked about this and took a vote,” Mario says with finality

“Miguel agreed to this?” Raphael asks, raising an eyebrow.

Mario pinches his lips together. “Miguel is…angry, right now. I think we all are. Not at each other, but I think we might end up taking it out on each other, since it’s easier to deal with anger when you have someone to take it out on. But now really isn’t the time for that, okay? I think that now, more than ever, we can’t be picking fights with each other over everything.”

Raphael remembers Magnus saying something similar, back in Edom. _Don’t fight with your brothers over silly things._

This is _not_ a silly thing. Mario is talking about letting Lightwood into their home, into their lives, something that there’s no point in doing now that Magnus is gone. Raphael doesn’t want Lightwood there, he _refuses_ —

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Lightwood asks Mario, hand tapping nervously against his knee. He’s still looking at Mario strangely, as if trying to puzzle out who he is.

“Yes,” Mario says before Raphael can protest, giving him a harsh glare.

And Raphael is _so tired_ and everything is just _awful_ and it’s not worth the argument with Mario that will ensue, especially since his relationship with Miguel has already gone so sour. So, he doesn’t protest, even though he absolutely despites the idea of Lightwood being there in Los Angeles, and just like that, he has a memorial to attend in a week.

He hates this _so much_.

\---

His hatred for the memorial goes well beyond the fact that Lightwood is invited. It’s the whole concept of the thing that makes him want to either explode with rage or lock himself up in his room and never come out. It’s nothing but a reminder that Magnus is dead, just like his mother’s memorial was a reminder that she died as well.

But Raphael goes to Los Angeles anyway, just as he attended his mother’s memorial despite his feelings about it. He leaves New York the day before, so he won’t have to deal with traveling with Lightwood.

In Los Angeles, everyone is already gathered in Miguel’s house, even though the memorial isn’t until tomorrow.

The grandkids are the only ones unaffected by the somber mood. They’re all under ten, and the only things they know about their great-grandfather is that he can do magic and that he lives in New York. The concept of death, especially that of someone a bit far removed from them, is hard for them to grasp, and they see this as just another family gathering. Raphael almost envies them.

His brothers’ kids, though, are a different matter. The thing with them is that _they’ve done this before_ , just four—five, now, he realizes—years ago. They’ve already buried their grandmother and held a memorial for her. Now, they have to do the same for their grandfather. If he really thinks about it, which he doesn’t particularly want to do, then he realizes that this is something that’s probably _common_ at their age.

“Is Magnus’s boyfriend really coming?” Miguel asks him later as they sit on the porch chairs.

Raphael shrugs. “Mario invited him.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do that.”

“Well, he did,” Raphael says, unable to help the irritation that creeps into his voice.

“What do you think of him?”

“I wish _he_ were the one who—”

His response is immediate, but he cuts himself off before he finishes the thought aloud. It’s a horrible thought, and he hates himself for even thinking it, despite everything. Magnus most certainly would’ve been horrified by it.

Miguel looks at him through narrowed eyes and tilts his head a little. Raphael wonders if Miguel knows the rest of unfinished thought.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Miguel says eventually.

“Yeah, well, neither do I.”

“I just,” Miguel begins, gritting his teeth in frustration. “We kept calling you and Magnus after you went missing. How could you just not tell us for a whole _week_?”

“I just forgot, okay?” Raphael can’t help but snap. “I turned my phone off when we went for the meeting the Seelies. And after we got back, that just wasn’t something that crossed my mind. It’s not something I thought about. In fact, I was trying very hard to just think about _nothing_ , because if I started thinking about anything, then I started thinking about Magnus—”

He cuts himself off again and bites at his lip. Miguel has gone silent and averted his gaze.

“I just forgot,” he repeats.

“Okay,” Miguel whispers, takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Are we good?”

Miguel looks at him then, smiles, sad. “Yeah, we’re good.”

\---

They start the memorial around sunset, when the sky is a brilliant red-orange and the sun glistens over the ocean. Lightwood is there, and he seems a bit overwhelmed by all of them, instead staying close to Mario.

Raphael very resolutely ignores this.

As it gets darker, they light a small bonfire on the beach, standing around it in a circle. They pass out sticks of incense among themselves and light them, holding them up as the sun goes down. Eventually, the soft glow of the incense and bonfire becomes the only light as the sun disappears completely.

He’s not entirely sure what they’re supposed to do, now. At his mother’s memorial, they’d said prayers together, but Magnus isn’t exactly religious like they are. He knew all the prayers and recited them along with the rest of them when appropriate. But saying the prayers _for_ Magnus doesn’t seem right.

The kids have letters that they wrote, neatly folded into envelopes. They toss them into the bonfire one at a time, looking upwards as they burn and smoke rises. Raphael remembers that they did this for his mother, too, and they just seem so much _better_ at handling all this awfulness than he can ever hope to be.

The kids are also the only ones who actually speak more than a few monosyllables. They’re the ones actually directing the memorial, keep it moving along. Mario did say last week that this was the kids’ idea, and Raphael has to wonder if his brothers are actually just as recalcitrant about the whole thing as he is.

What’s the point of memorials, anyway? To celebrate the dead, honor their lives? What’s to celebrate about Magnus sacrificing their lives so the rest of them could live? It doesn’t matter _why_ he did it, the end result is the same. Magnus’s death being a _sacrifice_ doesn’t make it hurt any less, doesn’t make it any easier to grieve.

His mother had lived ninety-six long years, a long time for a mundane. She’d been happy and at peace and it had been absolutely _awful_ when she died, but at least he knew that they’d had as much time together as they could, at least she hadn’t been _brutally_ ripped away from him.

At least, at the end of all that terribleness, he knew that he would always have Magnus with him, throughout the rest of their immortal lives.

And now?

Now, he’s standing on the beach behind a house that Magnus loved, staring numbly into the bonfire as ash from the incense falls onto his skin. His brothers and Lightwood are silent as well, listening to the kids talk.

He thinks that this a significant difference between being mortal and immortal. The former learns to accept the inevitability of death. They still feel the pain of it, but they learn to move on because they _have_ to, because it’s a natural part of _life_.

But being immortal is different. Being immortal means living through the ages, watching people around you be born and die. But it also means getting to stay by other immortals. It means there are some deaths you don’t have to make peace with because they’re not supposed to happen.

But now, Raphael has the rest of eternity spread out ahead of him, all _alone_ , and he absolutely _hates_ that.

He thought everything around him was just _empty_ and haunted, but now it’s all just full of _hate_.

\---

_**Cold** _

Somehow, it gets to be a year.

It doesn’t feel like a year to Raphael. It feels like one long unending nightmare, stretched into eternity. He still remembers Magnus _dying_ like it was just moments ago. And he still remembers emptiness and hatred and despair and rage, because they have yet to leave him alone. And he’s still at the loft in Brooklyn with Lightwood, clinging desperately onto pieces of the past despite them continually trying to slip out of his fingers.

It’s been a year, and that’s when he starts to hear the rumors.

The rumors say that a warlock thought to be dead has recently be found alive and brought to Idris.

The rumors say that the warlock was thought to have died during that year battling Valentine and Sebastian.

The rumors don’t say who the warlock is, because releasing that information could still be dangerous given the circumstances of the warlock’s supposed death.

The rumors don’t say who the warlock is, but Raphael still stupidly allows himself to _hope_ as he and Lightwood desperately make their way to Idris, allows himself to _hope_ as they run through the hallways, trying to get to the infirmary, allows himself to _hope_ and _hope_ and _hope—_

Catarina Loss, who has taken on the role of High Warlock of New York, meets them outside the infirmary doors. Somehow, she manages to look a mixture of profoundly overjoyed but simultaneously truly despondent.

She looks at the two of them, one hand still on the door handle, and says, “It’s Ragnor.”

\---

Raphael gives himself five whole minutes to be disgusted with himself for being disappointed before going in to see Ragnor.

 _Of course_ , he’s glad that Ragnor isn’t dead. _Of course_ , he’s overjoyed that his friend is unhurt and _alive_. He _loves_ Ragnor, of course he does.

He just thought—he _really_ thought…

It’s a terrible awful thing to be forced to choose between two people you love, and this is sort of what this situation reminds him of. Except he hasn’t been given a choice, but the choice has been made for him.

And yet, doesn’t his reaction to this outcome make it clear what he would’ve chosen if given that choice?

\---

“I can’t believe,” Ragnor says, looking at Tessa and Jem, “that in the short time I’ve been gone, you’ve managed to sort out that nasty business with the _yin fen_ , reunite with each other properly, travel around the world, _and_ plan a wedding.”

Tessa and Jem share a private smile, and Raphael is still very happy for them, even if he hates the world, hates himself.

They’re all in the infirmary, where Raphael and Magnus had ended up after that explosion in Ragnor’s house. Ragnor is on one of the beds and the rest of them are sitting in chairs surrounding him.

“Well,” Tessa says, “we haven’t actually gotten married, yet, so you still have that to look forward to. But is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

Ragnor shrugs, the picture of nonchalance.

Catarina crosses her arms and frowns at him. “I can’t believe you went and tried to fake your own death.”

“Emphasis on _tried_ ,” Ragnor says, as if that makes it any better. “I only did it because Valentine was getting too close. I thought I’d fake my death, lay low for a while, then come back when it was safer.”

“Because that sounds like a _great_ plan,” Raphael remarks sarcastically, leaning his chin against his hand.

Ragnor smirks at him, and Raphael _has_ missed this, despite everything. But that just makes him hate himself even more when he thinks about how…

 _No_ , he tells himself vehemently. _Don’t think about that_.

“It _was_ a great plan,” Ragnor informs him. “But while I was in the process of executing this brilliant plan, I was interrupted by a young warlock. I believe you’ve met her?”

This is directed at Lightwood, who is still openly staring at Ragnor and hasn’t said a single word this whole time. But when Ragnor asks, Lightwood blinks and sits up straight.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Magnus and I ran into her while we were taking our Europe trip after defeating Valentine in Idris. She helped us with the matter we were looking into for the Spiral Labyrinth, but she ended up betraying us, in the end.”

Ragnor nods at him. “Yes. I believe she approached the two of you because she wanted to use Magnus to her advantage. I told her what an idiotic plan that was, but she didn’t listen. And lo and behold, she failed rather miserably, didn’t she?”

Lightwood shrugs, looking away. “I guess.”

Ragnor frowns a little, and looks between all of them, confused. “Where is Magnus, by the way? Not to sound completely self-important, but I kind of thought that he’d be here to see me.”

Everyone looks away, now, not wanting to be the one to tell him. Ragnor is no fool, he must know that something is wrong by now. Maybe if they’re silent for long enough, he’ll just _guess_ and no one will actually have to _say_ it.

But then Ragnor looks at him, a question and concern obvious in his expression. With a great deal of effort, Raphael forces him to meet Ragnor’s eyes. He owes Ragnor that much, especially after his _horrible_ thoughts from earlier.

“Raphael?” Ragnor says, and there’s hesitance to his tone, now, like he’s starting to catch on, like he’s starting to realize just how _wrong_ things have gone. “Where’s Magnus?”

“Magnus,” Raphael starts, maintaining eye contact. “Magnus is—”

And he chokes on the last word, can’t get it out.

And he realizes, that in this entire year, he hasn’t _once_ actually said it _aloud._ With Miguel and Mario, there’d been that _cursed_ letter, and he hadn’t needed to say the actual word because the letter had done it for them. He just confirmed that what the letter said is true.

He thinks the word to himself all the time, and it haunts him, this horrid reminder. But that doesn’t count. He says the word in those dream-conversations when he gets angry at Magnus for dying, but that hardly counts either.

The closest word he’s ever brought himself to use aloud is _gone_ , and that was only when he was alone in front of his mother’s grave.

And Ragnor is still looking at him, and Ragnor _definitely_ knows, now, if the fear in his eyes is anything to go by.

“What happened?” Ragnor asks, his voice suddenly dipping to a whisper.

Raphael looks away, unable to say anything.

In the end, it is Catarina who slowly stands up from her chair and goes to stand by Ragnor’s bed, gently taking his hand.

“Last year, the Seelies called for a meeting with the Downworld leaders,” Catarina tells him. “It was a trap, and they ended up trapped in Edom for a while. Magnus…” she pauses, casts a brief glance at Raphael and Lightwood, before turning back to Ragnor. “Magnus made a deal with Asmodeus in order to get everyone home. He didn’t make it back.”

Ragnor gapes at her, then looks among the rest of them as if hoping they’ll say something else. But there is nothing else to say. And Ragnor has questions, _what, why, how, why, why, why_ and Raphael just can’t bear to be a part of this conversation anymore.

He’s on his feet and out the door before he’s fully aware of his actions, and he runs out to that clearing in the woods behind the Institute.

Last year, Magnus had come to find him when he escaped out here after Ragnor’s supposed death.

Now, everything is silent and dead around him, and he is all alone.

\---

If his father wasn’t a worthless alcoholic, Raphael would’ve long since turned to getting drunk on plasma in order to get through the days. From the few times he has gotten drunk, he can almost see why his father liked it so much.

If he’s drunk, then he doesn’t have to think about anything, doesn’t have to _feel_ anything. If he can’t think, then he doesn’t have to remember Asmodeus cackling at them all as he took Magnus away, doesn’t have to remember Magnus saying goodbye and walking away, doesn’t have to remember the fact that he’s all alone now.

It’s an offer of _relief_ , something to dull the pain, at least for a little while.

But Raphael refuses to turn into a _monster_ like his father, refuses to let himself become that. He’d rather _die—_ again—than be anything like his father.

So, he turns away from the plasma and the relief it promises and chooses something else, instead.

In one of the more hidden areas of the Shadow Market, there are fighting rings for all Downworlders. There are different levels to these rings, each governed by laxer and laxer rules. At the very top, the fights operate on an ‘anything goes’ standard, and the fights only end when one side admits defeat or can’t continue any longer.

It’s easy enough to enter. No one uses names at the fights, at least not real ones. There’s no express purpose to it either, just a group of people each trying to beat out all the others. Maybe they just want to prove their strength over others. Maybe they all have their own personal reasons in addition.

As Raphael stands by the sidelines watching one of these fights, he thinks about the early days of burning himself with the cross or running across the graveyard or scorching his fingers under the sunlight. A new source of pain to detract his attention away from the other. If he could focus on how everything _burned_ then he wouldn’t have to think about his sire and being turned and killing his friends.

It was a method that’d worked rather well, at the time.

But he’s long since learned how to handle the cross and sunlight no longer affects him, and he still needs _something._

And this, this is the perfect something.

His first fight is against another vampire, and it’s all too easy to end it quickly, barely taking any damage.

His second fight is against a Seelie, but the Seelie is young and overeager, and again Raphael finds himself the victor, barely even hurt at all.

His third fight is against a werewolf nearly twice his size in his human form, and Raphael doesn’t give himself any time to _think_ , any time to _regret_ , and jumps straight in, fangs bared, and aiming a hit at the werewolf’s head.

Raphael has enhanced speed and strength, but he quickly realizes that his advantages end right there. The werewolf is considerably larger than him, able to take Raphael’s hits and return quite a few of his own. He is also more familiar with the fights themselves, understands the rhythm of it, and the terrain of the sandy arena.

Even so, Raphael lets himself get lost in the motions of the fight, ignoring the jeers of the audience, and throwing punches and taking them. It’s a distraction, a particularly effective one at that, and he doesn’t have to think about Magnus being dead or how he still has all of eternity to spend all alone.

The werewolf barely even bats an eye during the fight, doesn’t even bother shifting. When Raphael lunges forward, the werewolf blocks the hits and kicks Raphael roughly to the ground. The blow lands right in his stomach and the pain of it radiates out, sending him into spasms. This, combined with the handful of punches the werewolf has already landed on his face, leaves him coughing blood up onto the sand and looking up through bleary eyes as the werewolf approaches.

“Are you finished?” the werewolf asks with a malicious smile, showing teeth and fists raised.

The crowd is practically roaring, itching to see what will come of this confrontation. The threat is clear. Raphael either admits defeat, or the werewolf will go on beating him into a pulp.

But that’s the whole _point_ of this, isn’t it? He’s strong, but the kind of fights that go on in this level of the fighting rings typically require a certain kind of training and technique that Raphael doesn’t have. He knows all this, and entered the fights because of it.

He’s counting on his opponent to be malicious and strong. He’s counting on his opponent to want to hurt him.

And he’s counting on himself to be able to pick himself up and press forward.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

He rises to his feet, planting his hands on his knees to stabilize himself. There’s blood in his mouth and he feels faint and everything _hurts_. But he’s reminded of those early days of collapsing after running across the graveyard, and that’s good, because that means that this is _working_.

“Bring it on, werewolf,” he spits, blood staining his mouth.

The werewolf does just that, leaping at him with clenched fists. Raphael returns the action, though the fight has drained his enhanced senses to the point where he has no advantage whatsoever.

He manages to land a few blows to the werewolf’s face, but the wolf lands even more back on him. Within seconds, he beats Raphael back down to the ground again, this time stomping a foot down on Raphael’s chest to keep him there.

There’s a sickening _crack_ as the werewolf does that, and pain explodes across his entire front, a thousand times more painful than any previous injuries sustained in the fight. He nearly passes out from it, which would be grounds for a loss by default, but he manages to blink and push himself back into full awareness.

The werewolf stands over him, leering. “Last chance to give up,” he sings, cracking his knuckles.

The werewolf is actually going to kill him, Raphael realizes. There’s no rule against it, so long as he doesn’t actually admit defeat and let the werewolf have the victory.

And it would be so easy to just lie there and let the werewolf end it, end _him_. Then he wouldn’t have to think anymore, or feel anymore, wouldn’t have to _remember_.

Magnus would hate this, Raphael knows. Magnus would pull him out of here, panicking, all while ranting about how thoughtless and reckless and _idiotic_ this whole endeavor is. Magnus would say all that and heal Raphael’s injuries, the warmth of his magic seeping away the pain, and make Raphael promise to never do this again.

Magnus would _hate_ this.

But Magnus isn’t _here_. There will be no one pulling Raphael out and giving him a lecture and healing his injuries. There will be no warmth at the end of all this, no whispered promises and comforting reassurances.

He’s on his own now, has to figure that all out for himself.

And Magnus _died_ , so Magnus doesn’t get a say.

But as the werewolf draws a knife out of his boots, long and sharp and ready to stake Raphael through the heart, Raphael feels true fear blossom in his chest. He doesn’t want to _die_. He just wants the pain of Magnus’s death to _go away_ , but the only way he can think of to do that is by supplanting it with some other pain.

And how useless _that_ turned out to be, considering that he’s just lying here crying silently and waiting to die, all while thinking of the fact that Magnus is _gone_ and won’t be coming to save him ever again.

But Raphael remembers standing there in Edom with Magnus saying goodbye, and he remembers being unable to move as Magnus leaned in to kiss his forehead one last time.

He remembers Magnus telling him to _live_.

It sparks something in him, that memory, and he raises a hand up, halting the werewolf.

Raphael says, barely loud enough to be heard, “I surrender.”

And the werewolf scowls, but this is one of the few rules governing the fight, so he sheathes his blade and steps away, leaving Raphael laying there on the ground alone, broken and bleeding, with no once coming for him.

\---

 _Everything hurts_ , but isn’t that exactly what he wanted?

Raphael limps his way back to Brooklyn, leaning against the walls of buildings and clutching at his sides. He grips the sunflower ring and cross tightly in his hand, as if doing so will bring him comfort. It doesn’t.

 _Everything hurts_ , and it feels like he’s only moving a step a minute, it feels like his destination gets farther and farther away with every step forward that he takes. Yet, somehow, he manages to stumble into the loft and literally collapse on the ground just as the sun starts to come up.

 _Everything hurts_ and moving only exacerbates this, but he forces himself to crawl towards his room anyway, even though he’s dripping blood on the ground.

 _Everything hurts_ but he manages to pull himself up into his bed, and doesn’t move for a very, very long time.

\---

He has that dream again, where he walks out of his room in the loft and takes a seat by the window. The loft in the dream is different than the one in real life. The _warmth_ is still there, and it isn’t an empty carcass of a thing that used to be a home. Raphael wants to stay here forever, just sitting in the warmth and never having to return.

"This isn’t healthy, Rapha,” the Magnus in the dream says again, just as he always does.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Raphael hisses, refusing to look at him.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Raphael clamps his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. “Shut up. Shut up. _Shut up_. You’re not even _real_ , it doesn’t _matter_ what you say, just go away!”

The Magnus in his dream kneels in front of him and gently places his hands over Raphael’s. Raphael blinks his eyes open, feeling like he’s going to cry.

“What does real mean, hm?” Magnus asks, gold eyes gleaming. “Yes, I’m gone from the waking world, but I’m still here with you now, am I not? And you know me well enough to know what I might say to you in a situation like this. Which means you know yourself that this isn’t good for you.”

“So, what?” Raphael snaps, lowering his hands into his lap, though Magnus doesn’t let go. “What are you going to do about it?”

Magnus shakes his head. “That’s what you need to be asking yourself. You _know_ you can’t go on like this, even if you haven’t accepted that yet. You _know_ something needs to change.”

“Yes,” Raphael declares. “You need to _come back_. Then everything will be _fine_.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Rapha,” Magnus says, eyes sad. “I wish it did, but that’s just not what the world is like. Terrible, awful things happen, and we have to learn to move on, otherwise, we’ll get stuck in that awfulness forever. We have to move on, otherwise, we’ll never get to see all the wonderful things that are still waiting for us in the future.”

Raphael scowls at him. “I had the future all planned out. I knew how it was all supposed to go. But now all that is _gone_ , so what even is waiting in the future?”

“Plans can change,” Magnus says. “In fact, they change all the time. They _have_ to change, because everything else in the world does.”

“That fucking sucks,” Raphael says flatly.

“I know.”

Raphael looks around the loft, notes how realistic it all appears, from the fraying seams in the chairs to the books stacked on the tables and shelves.

“Is any of this real?” Raphael whispers, staring straight at Magnus. “Is this some sort of magic afterlife projection or is this just my mind going crazy?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus says, laying a hand against Raphael’s cheek. “But real or not, I’m here and I love you and I want you to be well. Promise me you won’t go back? Please?”

There is desperation and fear in Magnus’s gold eyes, but _love_ as well, and it all looks _so real_ that Raphael can almost convince himself that it _is_.

“Okay,” Raphael says, and he can feel himself drifting back to wakefulness, leaving the warmth of the dream-loft behind. “I promise.”

\--- 

“Why is there blood on the floor?” Lightwood asks him the next day when they’re both sitting in the living room.

Raphael twists his head around to scowl at the blood. He thought he got it all, but it looks like he missed a spot when he wiped the floor down.

“I’ll clean it up later,” he says, turning his attention back to the book he’s reading.

“That’s not really an answer,” Lightwood says.

Raphael looks up, finds Lightwood frowning at him, though not with anger or hatred. Honestly, Raphael thinks they’re probably both too exhausted by this point to hate each other anymore.

From the way Lightwood is looking at him, Raphael figures that he already has his suspicions. But Lightwood also has had bandages wrapped around his knuckles for weeks, bloody more often than not. He has small injuries all up and down his arms, and that’s just what Raphael can see. He usually comes back to the loft drenched in sweat and breathing hard, his seraph blades and the tips of his arrows coated in demon blood.

As far as Raphael can tell, they’ve both taken on rather self-destructive ways of handling Magnus’s death. And given how miserable Lightwood looks every single day, Raphael knows that Lightwood has been just as unsuccessful as he has. Aren’t they just a pair?

But Raphael promised Magnus he wouldn’t do that anymore, and even though it had just been a dream, he’s trying to keep that promise. So, no drinking himself into a stupor and no inviting pain onto himself by getting into fights.

So, now, he reads. Even though Magnus left her all the books, Tessa only took some of them, claiming she couldn’t possibly carry them all with her as she travels. After over sixty years, Raphael has read most of the books in Magnus’s loft, so now he just picks up some of the ones he remembers liking and tries to focus on the words on the page and nothing else.

He thinks it might be working, but it’s only been a few hours.

Lightwood is still staring at him quizzically, and Raphael notices that the blue button-up shirt the Shadowhunter is wearing is one of Magnus’s. He’s been doing that a lot, lately, wearing Magnus’s clothes and jewelry around the loft. _Only_ around the loft.

“I did something stupid. It won’t happen again,” Raphael says, then directs a pointed look at Lightwood’s bleeding and bandaged knuckles. “What about you?”

“I…” Lightwood trails off, staring at his own hands. “Sometimes, it helps with the pain.”

“By creating another source of pain to distract you from the first,” Raphael acknowledges with a small nod.

“Yeah,” Lightwood says, blinking a little in surprise. Then, he eyes the spot of blood on the floor, shifts his gaze to Raphael, understanding suddenly dawning in his expression. He nods slowly, and says again, “Yeah.”

\---

Now that Ragnor is back, he, Raphael, and Tessa start getting together for occasional meetings again. Raphael wants to resent this, this return to normalcy, but he _has_ missed Ragnor a lot.

They don’t manage to meet up all that often anyway, since Tessa is busy traveling the world and planning her wedding with Jem, and Ragnor is still working at re-establishing himself in the Downworld.

“So,” Ragnor ventures one night after Tessa and Jem walked off together. “You’ve just been staying in Brooklyn? With Alec Lightwood?”

Raphael shrugs. “I suppose I have.”

“And that’s been going well?”

“It’s been going.”

Ragnor is frowning, now, looking rather concerned. Raphael ignores this, rather sick of all the concern being directed at him these days, and keeps his gaze focused forward as they walk through the streets of the Shadow Market.

He can see the dark alleyway that leads to the entrance of the fighting rings. It calls to him in an enticing way, promising pain, and with that, the possibility of relief. But he made a promise to the Magnus in his dreams, and real or not, he can’t bring himself to let Magnus down.

“Look,” Ragnor says seriously. “I’m not trying to sound judgmental or anything, but are you sure that staying there is healthy?”

The answer to that is, of course, a definite _no_ , but Raphael threw healthy coping mechanisms out the door the moment he got out of Edom without Magnus. He’s growing to hate the loft, almost, for the reminder of Magnus being dead that it presents to him every day. But he also can’t bring himself to stay at the Dumort, or even in Los Angeles.

The loft is his best option, even if it’s just _awful_.

“It is what it is,” he says to Ragnor. “Besides, I’m just fine, there.”

“Right,” Ragnor comments, clearly disbelieving. “I’m just worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be,” Raphael says, a bit more sharply than he intended. “Everything is fine.”

 _If he tells himself this enough times, will he start to believe it? Is that how it works? Please let that be how it works. It would be so_ easy _if that’s how it works._

“You could come stay with me in London, if you’d like,” Ragnor offers quietly.

Raphael looks to him then, surprised. He hadn’t thought about options outside of New York and Los Angeles. And London is…

London is a story that he’ll now never get to hear, at least not from Magnus. And Magnus is the person he wanted to hear the story from. Magnus is the main reason he was even interested in London in the first place.

“Thanks for the offer,” Raphael tells him genuinely.

“But you’ll pass?” Ragnor says, and he still sounds very concerned, but also like he’s accepted Raphael’s answer.

“I’ll pass,” Raphael confirms.

“Alright,” Ragnor nods. “Just, _please_ , let me know if you need something. Anything. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Raphael’s throat suddenly feels very tight and something clenches around his chest. He’s been so wrapped up in his anger and grief and misery that he hasn’t really thought about how everyone else feels.

Isn’t that just awful?

“Okay,” he promises Ragnor. “I will.”

\---

Raphael gets back to the loft to find Robert Lightwood there, standing across from his son by the couches. He has his sword strapped on his back and his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks very upset.

The younger Lightwood is wearing one of Magnus’s purple sweaters with sequins on it and has a simple pair of blue stud earrings on as well. Lightwood the elder looks at all of this in disgust.

“How much longer do you intend on behaving like this, Alec?” Robert Lightwood says. “It’s becoming ridiculous.”

The younger Lightwood glowers at his father. “I will _behave_ like this for as long as I like.”

“ _Enough_ , Alec. It’s been over a year—”

“One year, three months.”

“—and your mother and I have put up with your antics for as long as we can, but this is _enough._ ”

Lightwood scoffs. “My _antics_? Seriously, Dad, that’s what you’re going to call it? And I don’t care what you and Mom think, not after what she did to Magnus.”

“You need to let that go,” the older Lightwood says firmly. “It was a different time and—”

“Let it go?” the younger Lightwood repeats, incredulous. “She tried to murder the man I love!”

“And what do you know about love? You were with _that man_ for all of what? Six months? What do you know about him, really? Not that much, I’m betting. I understand that you were fond of your little _fling_ , but this has gone on long enough.”

“Get out,” Lightwood demands, eyes _livid_. His hands are clenched tightly into fists, and it looks like it’s taking all his self-control for him to not throw a punch at his father. “Get the fuck out and don’t you _dare_ come back here again.”

“How _dare_ you take that tone with me?” the older Lightwood snaps, equally livid. “You have no right whatsoever to talk to me like that. And you have no right whatsoever to kick me out of here!”

“I do,” Raphael says, stepping fully into the living room. Both Lightwoods whirl around to stare at him. Raphael ignores the younger one, focusing solely on the asshole elder. “Legally speaking, this loft is mine, now. So, I can absolutely tell you to _get the fuck out_.”

The man spits at him and snarls, but eventually storms his way to the door. He pauses there and turns back, expression all contorted by anger.

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood, if you do not come home with me right now, then don’t bother coming home ever again. Are we clear?”

Lightwood does not look affected by that statement at all. “That place isn’t my home anymore.”

“And _this_ place is?” the elder Lightwood asks with a scoff, though he leaves without waiting for an answer.

With his father gone, Lightwood’s expression loses all that anger and turns into pure misery. He looks at Raphael and gives him a small nod of acknowledgment, before collapsing into one of the couches, burying his face in his hands. Raphael can sympathize. Asshole fathers are something he’s intimately familiar with.

He thinks of all those awful things Robert Lightwood just spewed, demeaning his son’s relationship with Magnus and trying to brush off the deepness of his grief.

But Raphael had said something similar in those first few weeks, hadn’t he?

 _Six months_.

He thinks of London, all those mysteries he knew nothing about and how much that frustrated him.

“Lightwood,” Raphael says, and the Shadowhunter blinks up at him. “I’m going to show you something.”

\---

He doesn’t show Lightwood everything, because he’s definitely not ready for _that_. Instead, he chooses just one of the photo albums. The one from the sixties.

Raphael sits down on the couch next to Lightwood and sets the album on the table, slowly flipping it open.

He watches as Lightwood stare at the black-and-white photos, sees Raphael’s mother and brothers and Magnus, all standing together and smiling throughout New York. Some in the Harlem house, others in Coney Island. Even more in various parts of the city, and even a few in the Brooklyn loft.

“I don’t know if Mario told you anything, back in Los Angeles,” Raphael says.

Lightwood traces the edges of a photo featuring Magnus carrying a ten-year-old Mario in his arms, standing in the kitchen of the Harlem house.

“He said that he was two when you were turned, three when he met Magnus, and that he remembers basically none of the stuff that happened in the beginning,” Lightwood tells him. “He says that as far as he can remember, his family has always included Magnus in addition to his brothers and mother.”

Raphael nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right. His perspective as the youngest has always been different than the rest of ours.”

“How old were the rest of you?” Lightwood asks hesitantly.

Raphael hesitates for a moment, but he was the one who brought this up, so he may as well follow through on this.

“When we met Magnus? Miguel was thirteen. Antonio and Joaquin were eight,” he says, pointing to each of his brothers in one of the group photos taken on the boardwalk of Coney Island as he talks. “I was fifteen, but I met him six months before he did. I was sixteen by the time they all met him.”

“You’re the oldest?”

Raphael nods in confirmation. “Not that any of them seem to pay that any mind, now that we’re all as old as we are.”

Lightwood makes a sound like a choked laugh. “Yeah, I totally get that.”

He’s also the oldest of his siblings, which is something that Raphael has always known, yet not really thought about, until now. It’s a strange thought to consider that they have something in common besides Magnus.

“I, uh,” Lightwood says, scratching his chin. “I only met Mario and Miguel?”

Raphael pinches his lips together, then forces himself to relax. “Antonio and Joaquin died in one of the mundane wars when they were in their twenties.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Raphael just shrugs, and remembers Max Lightwood.

Lightwood is quiet for a while, thinking, and Raphael suspects that he’s working up to asking the big question.

And, just as he expects, after a few minutes of quiet, Lightwood asks, “How did you and Magnus meet?”

“When I was fifteen,” Raphael says slowly, focusing his attention on the photos rather than Lightwood, “there was a vampire hunting and killing children in my neighborhood. My friends and I tracked him down to the Dumort. He’s the one who turned me. I survived. My friends and my sire didn’t. My mother, she knew what my friends and I had planned and warned me against doing it, but I didn’t listen. So, when I didn’t come home, she went to Magnus. I’m not sure how she knew to go to him, but she went and asked him to find me. And that’s what happened.”

He pauses, leans against the back of the couch, all the while still keeping his eyes on the photo album. His family’s faces smile back up at him.

“Magnus brought me back here, to Brooklyn,” Raphael goes on. “I stayed with him for six months, getting my vampirism under control. I met Ragnor, met Lily. And in December, Magnus took me back home and I told my mother the truth about what happened. And she…she just accepted _everything_ , just like that. It always shocked me, how _fine_ she was with everything. But I know how rare that is, so I didn’t question it. After that, Magnus started coming around more. My mother liked him. My brothers liked him. I liked him. He just _fit_. It felt _right_ , having him there, and somehow, over the years, we just ended up becoming a family.”

“Oh,” Lightwood says, all quiet and surprised. He’s still looking at the photos, gently turning the pages over.

“This album is from the sixties,” Raphael says into the silence, trying to break the sudden tension in the air. “We have lots of these albums, especially since Magnus got really into photography for a while. It’s nice, though, having all this.”

Lightwood nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

He pauses at a photo of Mama and Magnus, standing next to each other in front of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. They’re sharing a laugh with each other, and the sunflower rings are visible on their hands.

“Were your mother and Magnus, um, I don’t know, a couple?”

Raphael almost laughs at that, because everyone always makes that assumption. He takes the sunflower ring out of his pocket and lets it rest on his open palm.

“Not romantically,” he tells Lightwood. “They were just friends. Miguel bought them the sunflower rings as a gift after his first year of college in Los Angeles. I think it was partly a joke, since people have assumed that they’re a couple before. Maybe it seems weird to everyone else, but this is just the way things were, for us. It was our life.”

Lightwood is silent, staring down at the photograph.

“He wanted to tell you about this,” Raphael says and that gets Lightwood’s attention, causing him to stare directly at Raphael.

Raphael stares back, and goes on, calmly, “That summer, after the whole Daylighter thing happened, we took a short trip to Los Angeles. During that trip, Magnus told me that he wanted to tell you about all this, but that he wasn’t ready to, yet. He said that he wasn’t taking anything lightly, and that he would tell you and introduce you to everyone once he was ready.”

Raphael remembers it, the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. The rumble of the car’s engine as Magnus drove them down the highway, singing along to songs on the radio. The warmth and peacefulness of that moment feel so far away now, and Raphael wishes that feelings were something he could put into a bottle, so he could experience them again and again whenever he wants.

But there’s no magic for that, at least not that he knows of. All he can do know is cling tight to these memories, hoping they won’t disappear and leave him, too.

“Oh,” Lightwood says, his eyes a bit watery. “That’s…oh.”

He turns back to the photo album, going through a few more pages in silence. There’s still a part of Raphael that wants to pull it away, keep all those memories close and safe. But there isn’t really a point to that anymore, if there ever was. And he thinks that Magnus would’ve like for Lightwood to see this, anyway.

The album ends with a photo of them all standing on the porch of the Los Angeles house, Miguel’s wife there with them after the newlywed couple just moved into their new home.

Raphael closes the album and hugs it to his chest.

“We were supposed to have more time,” he whispers.

Lightwood says nothing, but nods in agreement, and around them the loft is cold and empty and silent. All those decades of memories are so very, very far away.

\--- 

“You should come stay with us in Los Angeles,” Miguel suggests one night.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine where I am,” Raphael tells him.

“Are you really?” Miguel asks, and Raphael can tell that he’s raising an eyebrow even though they’re speaking over the phone. “I remember that after Mama died, it was awful being back in Harlem surrounded by reminders that she’s gone. And we were only there for a few hours. I’m just saying, it can’t be pleasant, staying there in Magnus’s loft.”

Raphael does not immediately respond to this, because Miguel has a point. He thought he’d get used to it, but more and more, the loft is starting to feel like a tomb. It houses all the memories of a person long dead and none of the warmth.

“I hear what you’re saying, Miguel,” Raphael concedes, “but I don’t think that moving to Los Angeles is going to help with anything.”

“Somewhere else, then?” Miguel suggests, persistent.

Raphael groans and rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, so we may as well get on with the conversation,” Miguel remarks smugly, because he’s a little brat.

Ragnor has brought up the topic a few more times as well, seeming to grow more concerned each time. It’s not that Raphael doesn’t get where the concern is coming from. He knows that staying in the loft isn’t exactly helping his mood. He keeps walking around and seeing the empty spaces where Magnus is supposed to be, only to be crushed by grief as he realizes again and again that Magnus will never be there again.

But he can’t exactly just go back to staying full-time at the Dumort, either. That is a return to normalcy that he wants to reject, that he is definitely not ready for, though he still doesn’t know if he ever will be ready for it.

“Where do you suggest, then?” he asks, just to humor his brother.

“You know,” Miguel begins cautiously. “According to that letter, Magnus left us a few places around the world.”

Raphael frowns, remembering the letter. He’d skimmed it very briefly, more occupied by the fact that Miguel and Mario were standing distraught and furious in front of him at the time.

“Like what?”

“Give me a second,” Miguel says. Raphael hears movement, then the rustling of paper, before Miguel’s voice returns. “There’s an apartment in London. You could move to London?”

“You’re serious about this,” Raphael realizes.

Miguel scoffs. “Of course, I’m serious. Did you think I suggested this just to fool around? I don’t think Magnus left you the Brooklyn loft just so you could stay there and be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” Raphael grumbles, because part of him still thinks that if he says it enough times, it’ll eventually be true.

“Are you happy?”

And there’s that question again, and Raphael remembers the summer before Miguel left for college. Miguel had asked him that question then, too, though that had been a very different time, thus eliciting a very different answer.

When Raphael has been silent for too long, Miguel says, “Magnus would want you to be happy.”

Raphael closes his eyes for a long moment. “I know.”

He thinks of that dream he has in the loft where Magnus comes to sit with him and look at him with concern. It’s just a dream but there’s a certain _realness_ to it as well, because Raphael knows that Magnus wouldn’t want him to live like he is now.

“Exactly,” Miguel says, firm. “So, London?”

“Not London,” Raphael says, opening his eyes and giving into his brother’s questions. “London is…a bad idea.”

“Alright. What about Paris?”

“You realize I don’t speak French, right?”

“You could learn,” Miguel suggests.

“Hm,” Raphael mutters with a roll of his eyes. “What else?”

“There’s a house in Hawaii,” Miguel says, and Raphael freezes to the spot, hand clenching around his phone. “Honolulu, more specifically.”

“Hawaii,” Raphael repeats.

“Am I missing something important?” Miguel asks.

Raphael nods, then realizes Miguel can’t see him. His throat is suddenly tight and it’s hard to speak.

“Magnus and I used to talk about it,” he finally manages. “Hawaii.”

“Oh,” Miguel says quietly. “Bad idea, then?”

Raphael thinks about it. _Really_ thinks about it.

And slowly, gradually, a plan begins to form.

\---

The next day, Raphael finds Lightwood curled up on one of the couches, wrapped in Magnus’s long blue winter coat, even though it’s already spring. He looks absolutely miserable, dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever. Lightwood looks up as Raphael walks into the living room and gives him a small nod of acknowledgement as Raphael sits down across from him.

“My siblings want me to get out of here,” Lightwood says glumly.

“That’s funny,” Raphael remarks dryly. “Mine feel the same way.”

Lightwood makes a sound reminiscent of a laugh, but it sounds far too broken to qualify.

“I get what they’re saying, I do,” Lightwood says, staring down at his hands. He’s holding onto a red silk patch with golden characters stitched onto it. Raphael recognizes it as the gift Lightwood gave to Magnus after one of their sporadic trips back in the early stages of their relationship.

“But where would I even go, if I leave here?” Lightwood goes on. “I’m not going back to the Institute, and not just because my parents are awful. Going back there means going back to the way things were before, and I can’t do that. I just _can’t_.”

Raphael looks at him, intently, enough so that Lightwood feels the attention and looks back at him, tilting his head questioningly.

“Lightwood,” Raphael says after thinking about it for a moment. “I’m going to suggest something.”

“Okay,” Lightwood says. “I’m listening.”

\---

At night, Raphael wanders back to the Dumort, briefly greeting the others and ignoring their concerned looks, making his way straight to his floor he shares with Lily, Elliott, and Simon. All three of them are there, crowded around the flat-screen television they got installed a few years ago, and playing a video game involving cars.

They all look up as Raphael walks in, which sends Elliott and Simon’s virtual cars careening off course and leaving Lily as the victor. None of them pay this any mind. Raphael doesn’t come by that often, only when there’s business to take care of. And there’s no such business tonight, so it’s clear why they’re surprised to see him.

“Hi,” Raphael says.

“Hi,” Lily says back, getting up and walking over to stand in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going away for a while,” he tells her, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting too much. “To Hawaii.”

“Hawaii.”

“Yes,” Raphael agrees with a firm nod. “I don’t know for how long. But the clan is yours, Lily, even if I do come back. I haven’t been a very good clan leader lately, nor a very good friend. I’m sorry, that’s completely on me. But you’ve always been so good with the clan, even better than me. I just…need to get _away_ for a while. I can’t stay in Brooklyn anymore, and I’m not ready to come back here.”

“Okay, I get that,” Lily says, eyes wide with concern. “But Hawaii? On your own?”

Raphael shakes his head. “Not on my own. I’m going with Lightwood.”

Lily stares at him incredulously, as do Elliott and Simon. “I’m sorry, there must be something wrong with my hearing. I thought you just said that you’re moving to Hawaii with _Alec Lightwood_.”

“I am,” Raphael confirms. “For a while, at least. We’re leaving in a week, right after Tessa’s wedding. We both need to get away, I think, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Lily says, drawing out the word and bouncing on her heel a little. “Are you sure?”

Raphael shrugs a little, then gives her a small nod, tries for a smile.

“Okay,” Lily says again, this time with resolution. “I’m going to hug you now.”

She does just that, giving Raphael a moment to back out should he so choose. He doesn’t, and hugs her back instead. She lets go after a while, and she gives him a wobbly smile.

Elliott and Simon come over for quick hugs as well, and the four of them stand there in silence for a moment, staring each other down.

“Take care of yourself, and come back safely,” Lily says to Raphael, looking him straight in the eye to express how serious she is. “And remember to call often. I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you.”

“I will,” Raphael promises her.

\---

_**Away** _

One year and four months after Magnus’s death, Raphael and Lightwood arrive in Honolulu, bags and suitcases in tow.

The house in Hawaii is long and wide and two stories tall, with a slanted roof covered in black tiles. The outside is painted a light sky blue, and the windows are outlined in white. The front porch is also painted white and there’s one of those swinging porch chairs set on it. It’s in a quiet neighborhood, with the houses spaced out quite a bit.

The paved walkway to the house is short and choked by weeds, the grass in the yard tall and rather unkempt. It’ll need tending to. Raphael thinks that maybe this house is like the one in Los Angeles, back before Magnus gave it to Miguel. Back then, Magnus’s magic kept the yard maintained and the inside free of dust. But with his magic gone from the world, the plants in the yard are given free rein to run rampant.

Raphael walks up the wooden steps of the porch, Lightwood following close behind. The door is painted white, with a half-circle window near the top, giving a small glimpse into the house. Raphael fits the key into the lock and gently nudges the door open.

Inside, the house is sparsely furnished, only a brown couch in the living room by the entrance and a long dining table at the back of the house against the windows. There’s a layer of dust over the hardwood floors, and it kicks up in the air as they walk in. The living room, dining area, and kitchen are all connected to each other with no walls in the way. There’s a staircase to the second floor on the right and a hallway extending out to the left.

The fact that there’s furniture at all is surprising. Raphael can only wonder how long Magnus has had this house and what his plans were for it.

Raphael and Lightwood make their way through the house, heading out the back door through the kitchen. There’s a brick patio that ends directly at the beach, no stairs leading down like in Los Angeles. Tall trees stand on either side of the backyard, separating them from their neighbors.

He can hear the crash of waves against the shore, as well as the cheerful screams and laughter of children nearby. After a few moments, he and Lightwood head back inside, going to see the rest of the house.

They get as far as the dining area, which is right next to the kitchen. The table is stained dark wood and surrounded by a set of four chairs. It looks fancy and new and Raphael walks around it, running a finger across the glossy surface.

And that’s when he sees the letters.

\---

There are four letters in total, with names written on the envelopes in Magnus’s flowing script. One addressed to Raphael, one to Miguel, one to Mario, and one to Lightwood.

The one to Raphael reads:

_Raphael:_

_I didn’t want to leave one of those ‘if you’re reading this then I’m dead’ letters, but I also didn’t want to be leaving nothing behind if my suspicions and fears this year truly come to pass. Of course, if those fears don’t come to pass, then I’ll just come back here and burn this letter. But if they do, then I’ve left this letter here for you to find._

_I want you to know that I have no regrets about these past six decades. None at all. I’m not too firmly for or against fate, but I like to believe that we all came together the way we did for a reason, and I’m so grateful for that._

_When we met, I was not in a very good frame of mind, not at all. I’d gotten very good at hiding it, but no matter how well you hide something, the truth remains the truth. I was angry and broken and lonely, but after I met you and your mother and your brothers, that all started to change. I am so, so grateful for all of you, for giving me a home and a family and accepting me even though I’m not one of you. And I’m so glad that I got to watch you amazing young boys grow up into wonderful men._

_I know everything’s awful right with this whole mess with Valentine and now Sebastian, and I don’t know how all this will end. But I want you to know that no matter what happens, I love you so very much. I want nothing more than for you to be well and safe and happy._

_I think perhaps sometimes I might end up treating you like a kid and maybe sometimes I come off as overprotective when I worry too much. But I’m still trying to figure all of this out, even after all this time. How do I best care for you? What exactly am I to you and you to me?_

_As your friend, I think it might be beyond my place to pry and fuss about the things you don’t want to talk about, even if I can tell that you’re hurting._

_As your sort-of parental figure, it’s a bit less clear to me what I am and am not allowed to do. Ideally, I would love to be able to take all your pain away and bear it for you. I would love to be able to just hand you happiness and the solutions to all your problems. But that’s not how the world works, is it?_

_Your mother said something to me once about being a parent that really stuck out to me. She said that, even as your mother, she didn’t have the power to guarantee you wellness or grant you happiness. She said that the best she could do is to teach you kindness and bravery and goodness, and hope that with the lessons she gives you, you’ll be able to grow up strong and fight for your own wellness and happiness._

_I think there’s a great deal of wisdom to that. No one can guarantee anything. I can’t guarantee that I’ll survive this war. But the time you spend with the people you love is something that stays with you forever, even after they’re gone. What you learn with them, from them, what you teach to them in turn, those are things that you’ll always remember and hopefully be able to pass on._

_I’m an imperfect person. There are lots of things wrong with me, even after all these centuries of living and trying to make myself better. And I know I’m not really your father or parent or anything like that, but my hope is that I’ve given you time and memories that you can treasure. My hope is that in these sixty-odd years, I’ve given you something good, something of value. I hope, if the worse truly does come to pass, that I’ve given you strength, that you’ll go on and live and be happy._

_Know that you’re not alone, Rapha, no matter what comes to pass. I firmly believe that your mother is still watching over you all, proud and full of love. I’ll be there for you, too, as long as I can. But even after I’m gone, I’ll always be there with you in spirit. At least, that’s what I hope you can get out of all our years together._

_Know that I love you, always, and that I am so proud of you._

_Don’t be afraid to mess up. Don’t be afraid to be sad. Remember to give yourself time whenever you need it, whatever you need it for. Find all the good things in the world to balance out the bad. Be happy. Live._

_I love you._

_—Magnus_

_\---_

Raphael spends a good half hour curled up in a ball under the table, reading the letter and openly sobbing. Lightwood disappeared somewhere with his own letter, and Raphael hasn’t seen him since.

He stares down at the letter and everything _hurts_ as the words swim around in his mind. He can hear Magnus’s voice behind the words, and it’s different than those dreams in the loft he has because the letter is actually _real_. It’s not just some hazy dream that slips away too easily. It’s _tangible_ and he’s holding it in his trembling hands, trying his hardest to not get tears on it.

And Magnus is still _gone_.

Right now, more than ever, Raphael wants to talk to Magnus. He wants to march up to him and demand that he explains this letter, _why_ he left it and did he _know_ he might die, and if he did _why didn’t he say anything_?

With shaking hands, Raphael folds the letter back up and slides in back into the envelope, clutching it tightly against his chest. He stays crouched there for a long, long time, hugging the letter close, as if doing so will somehow imprint the words forever in his heart.

\---

He finds Lightwood on the beach later as the sun is going down, sitting directly on the sand, letting the water wash over his bare feet. He has the letter set on his lap, absently tracing over the inky letters of his name on the envelope. Raphael left his own letter back on the table next to the one for his brothers. He’ll have to mail them out, later, perhaps after he gives them a call to let them know.

Raphael kicks off his shoes and socks and takes a seat as well. 

“What’s the significance of Hawaii?” Lightwood asks, still facing the water. His eyes are rimmed red, but his voice is steady and his face is dry. “He must have left the letters here for a reason.”

“It’s something we used to talk about,” Raphael answers, wrapping his arms around his knees and digging his heel into the damp sand. “After the first Accords meeting after the Uprising, Magnus brought up wanting to move to Hawaii after he retired. And we brought it up a few times after, mostly only half-seriously. I didn’t even know about this house until a week ago.”

“But he still left the letters here, knowing you’d come,” Lightwood says, jaw clenching and fists balling up. “And the way he was talking in the letter, it seemed like he _knew_ that he was going to die.”

Raphael pinches his lips together and can’t bring himself to say anything. He gets the same impression from his letter, and he wants to know what, exactly, Magnus was _thinking_ when he wrote it.

Lightwood reaches into his pocket and takes out that red silk patch, dangling it off his finger by the strap at the top.

“I got this for Magnus when we were in Japan,” Lightwood says. “It’s an _omamori_. I don’t know the history or culture behind it, but it’s meant to be a protection charm. It was supposed to keep him _safe_. But now he’s _dead_.”

He’s scowling now, frustrated, and crushes the charm in his fist. He looks simultaneously like he’s going to cry but also pummel something.

“What _now_?” Lightwood spits out.

“I don’t know,” Raphael says, for it’s a question he’s been asking himself many, many times. He’s so full of anger and despair and loneliness that he can barely even _begin_ to think about the answer to that question.

But he remembers in those dreams of the loft, Magnus saying, _‘You can’t go on like this. Something needs to change_. _’_

Throughout the years, Magnus has always had a tendency for being right, for saying what Raphael _needed_ to hear, even if it wasn’t easy to accept.

Raphael gets to his feet, curling his toes into the sand. The sun has partially dipped beneath the horizon now, radiating vibrant hues of purple and orange. Like it or not, this is what he has to deal with, now. He has six decades of memories, a letter he’s still trying to fully process, and this house here in Hawaii.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, looking over at Lightwood. “But we may as well try to find out.”

\---

Once, early in the year, three years after Raphael was turned, Magnus invited them to celebrate Lunar New Year with him.

“Why is it celebrated on a different day than the actual new year?” Mario asked, playing with the small dragon puppet Magnus handed to him. It was red and gold and the head and tail moved up and down as Mario fiddled with the sticks holding the puppet up. They all got one, and the twins were busy putting on a puppet show together for Miguel while the rest of them talked.

“It’s based on the lunar calendar,” Magnus explained, dressed in red. “It’s old and not in use anymore, but Lunar New Year is always set on the first day of that calendar. And since the days don’t match up to the calendar we use now, each year the day of holiday differs.”

“Cool!” Mario said, not quite six at the time and still finding everything to be cool.

“How do you celebrate?” Mama asked, propping up a red paper lantern on the kitchen counter.

“Well, it can vary from country to country,” Magnus said. “But the traditional themes are gathering together as a family and having a meal together, usually on New Year’s Eve since it’s bad luck to cook on New Year’s Day. Everything is family-centric. You pay respects to the family ancestors, you eat, and then partake in family traditions. Some play games and tell stories. Some go to visit temples and pray. At midnight, there are fireworks.”

“Fireworks are great!” Miguel called out from the living room.

Magnus laughed at this and Raphael and his mother shared an amused grin.

“The fireworks aren’t solely for fun, you know?” Magnus told him, turning in his chair to face Miguel. “There’s a legend of a monster named Nian that would hunt people around New Year’s. Setting off fireworks would scare the monster away, keeping everyone safe.”

Miguel nodded, taking this in. “But we can still do fireworks later? Is that something you can do with magic?”

“We can and it is,” Magnus confirmed. “In fact, magic fireworks are quite amazing, if I do say so myself.”

“And everyone still celebrates even though the old calendar isn’t used anymore?” Raphael asked, a bit amazed by the longevity of the tradition.

“Well, Japan stopped sometime in the late nineteenth-century,” Magnus answered. “Now they celebrate with the rest of the world. But there are still people who keep with the old tradition. Traditions are powerful. If they’re important enough to people, then they’ll keep a hold of them, no matter what happens.”

Mama nodded at this, smiling a touch nostalgically, and Raphael thought about those traditions that were harder to hold onto in New York rather than back in Zacatecas.

“On New Year’s Day,” Magnus went on, “you continue on with the family gatherings. Over the next two weeks, people typically go around to visit with all members of their extended family. The children go around paying their respects to and wishing their elders a happy New Year, and in return get red envelopes with money in them.”

“I think all that sounds wonderful,” Mama said earnestly. “Do you celebrate every year?”

Magnus’s answering smile was a bit sad. “I only lived in that part of the world for seven years. After I left, there wasn’t really anyone who knew about the holiday, let alone people I could celebrate with. But it’s a tradition from my childhood that’s important to me, so I held onto it all these centuries.”

They all talked a bit more, Magnus sharing with them some stories from his childhood. Later, they gathered together in the small backyard and Magnus waved a hand towards the air, and fireworks bloomed across the night sky.

\---

Slowly, gradually, they settle into a rhythm.

Raphael and Lightwood wander out to explore the island throughout the days, starting from the tourist attractions and branching out from there. It’s a bit jarring at first, the difference of it compared to New York. But Raphael had felt that same way when he first got to New York, all those decades ago, and he had adjusted well enough back then.

At least this city doesn’t feel like it’s haunting him, the way New York does. It’s a new entity, and even though they’d talked about it for years, he’s never actually been here. It doesn’t have the memories that New York does, lurking around all the street corners, waiting to overwhelm him with the fact that they’re all faded and gone.

The house, too, is easier to live in than the loft. He doesn’t look around it, expecting to see Magnus there. He doesn’t have any memories woven into the house, so it doesn’t feel _empty_ in the way the loft did.

Instead, he and Lightwood start filling up the house. They buy furniture for the rooms and clean up the overgrown yard. It’s all a mindless distraction more than anything, attempts to get them to think about something other than Magnus’s death. But there’s also a sense of fulfillment in watching the house become less empty.

One month in, still working through the awkward silences that emerge as a result of them not knowing each other well and knowing even less how to interact with each other, they start sharing stories with one another.

“When we stopped by Venice that summer after defeating Valentine,” Lightwood says one evening as they sit in chairs on the back patio, “Magnus took me to this bridge with all these locks on it. Couples would carve their names onto a lock and clip it onto the bridge, then toss the key into the water.”

“Why?” Raphael asks, genuinely curious.

“It’s symbolic,” Lightwood responds with a small wave of his hand, oddly reminiscent of something Magnus used to do. “You know, the lock represents your love for each other, and it’s forever locked onto the bridge and can’t be removed because you threw the key away. I think it’s romantic, to have someone you love that much that you want to do something to symbolize the permanence of your love. Do you have someone like that?”

Raphael is caught between the urge to gag and to roll his eyes, but eventually settles on the latter. “Not like _that_ ,” he tells Lightwood, puzzling out how much he actually wants to reveal. “I’m not interested in that. It’s not a vampire thing, it’s just the way I’ve always been.”

Lightwood blinks at him at first, but eventually nods as he understands. “Oh. I see.”

Raphael rolls his eyes again to dispel the tension. “ _Anyway_ ,” he says. “Did you and Magnus put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key?”

“We did,” Lightwood confirms. “We weren’t in Venice for long since we had to deal with the thing for the Spiral Labyrinth, but we made time to go to the bridge and put our lock on it. It’s still there, now, even though Magnus is…”

He trails off, face suddenly contorted with grief. Neither of them are particularly fond of saying the word aloud.

“But your lock is still there,” Raphael says, shifting around in his chair to turn to Lightwood. “It’s still on that bridge, symbolizing what you shared together. That’s the whole symbolism part of it, right?”

Lightwood inhales and holds it for a long moment, letting the breath out slowly. “Yeah, I guess so,” he murmurs. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, he sits up straight in his chair and adds, much more firmly, “You’re right. It’s still _there_. It’s not _gone_ , even if he _is_. I keep feeling like everything disappeared when Magnus did, but the lock is still _there_. I…”

He starts crying silently then, suddenly collapsing in on himself and burying his face in his hands, which Raphael has no idea what to do with. He feels like he should comfort Lightwood, but he doesn’t know how.

Instead, he just sits there numbly, Lightwood’s words echoing in his mind.

 _Still there, not gone. Still there, not gone_.

\---

Once, early in the sixties, they all went ice skating in Central Park. The winter air was crisp around them and sparkling lights were wrapped around all the trees.

Tony and Joaq started racing each other across the ice the moment they got their skates on, Miguel following not far behind. Magnus led Mario across the rink for the first ten minutes, helping him find his balance. After a few laps around the rink, Mario skated off on his own, chasing after the twins and Miguel. Magnus then glided easily to where Raphael and his mother were watching on the sidelines.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come skate?” Magnus asked them with a grin.

Mama rolled her eyes and grinned, fond. “Oh, alright. I suppose I can give it a try. Rapha, what about you?”

Raphael crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the rink, keeping his feet planted firmly on the solid, non-slippery ground. “I think I’ll just watch.”

He stayed there for a while, watching his family go in circles around the ice. His mother took to it rather quickly, though she and Magnus continued skating hand in hand, occasionally skating by and chatting briefly with the others.

After a few laps, they came back to where Raphael was standing and Mama stepped off the ice, wobbling a little as she made her way to sit down. Magnus stepped off with her, and the three of them sat on one of the iron benches set next to the rink.

“I have to admit,” Mama said with a smile. “That was more fun than I thought it would be.”

Magnus beamed. “It is, isn’t it? I didn’t think too fondly of colder climates when I was a kid, but there are some things best enjoyed where it’s cold.”

“Yeah?” Raphael said, leaning forward to look at Magnus, sitting on the other side of the bench. “What happens when you slip and go flying off the ice?”

“Well, that sounds like it would be rather unfortunate,” Magnus commented. “Would you like to give it a try?”

“Flying off the ice?”

Magnus grinned at him. “I was thinking more along the lines of _not_ flying off the ice and just skating.”

“It really is fun,” Mama reassured him with a smile.

Which is how Raphael found his feet strapped to a pair of shoes with actual _blades_ on them, which seemed far too thin for anyone to stand on, yet there were people doing spins and leaps at the center of the ice.

Raphael, on the other hand, nearly fell forward onto his face the moment he got onto the ice. Magnus caught him easily, offering his hand for balance, and gave him an amused smile. Raphael glared, but took his hand regardless.

He let Magnus guide him around the edges of the rink for a few laps, though it felt like his legs were trembling the whole time.

“Having fun?” Magnus asked.

Raphael grit his teeth, hand tightening around Magnus’s as his foot skid a little too far forward. “Well,” he said once he regained his balance. “I haven’t fallen, yet.”

“Don’t worry,” Magnus said with a soft smile, giving Raphael’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t let you fall.”

And Raphael smiled, then, because he knew Magnus and he knew those words to be true.

\---

Seasons in Hawaii are a strange thing, at least compared to what Raphael’s grown used to back in New York. The change in months would dictate the transition from spring to summer, but it only gets marginally warmer as the solstice passes.

Raphael and Lightwood have been here over two months now, and so far, have managed to avoid coming into contact with the Honolulu Institute and Downworld. One evening, however, as they go for a walk along the beach, the Diamond Head volcano green and visible in the distance, they happen upon a small group of minor demons lurking beneath a cluster of palm trees.

Instinct kicks in and they both launch themselves at the demons before they can wreck any havoc. Lightwood doesn’t have his bow with him, but Shadowhunters never seem to go anywhere unarmed. He pulls a dagger out of hidden holster strapped to side and stabs one of the demons in the eye. Raphael punches another in the neck.

Then, there’s the familiar white glow of seraph blades and the sound of incoming footfalls. Two Shadowhunters appear, taking out the rest of the demons within moments. That threat eliminated, the Shadowhunters turn their attention to Raphael and Lightwood.

“Vampire,” one of the Shadowhunters says, turning her nose up at Raphael. “What are you doing here?”

And it’s been a year and a half since the defeat of Valentine and Sebastian, and they’re all meant to be _improving_ relations these days, and yet.

“Well,” Raphael drawls, tucking his hands into his pockets and nudging the dead demon he took out with his foot. “I’d say that I was merely helping you out with your little demon problem.”

Both the Shadowhunters scowl at him, but it seems like they’re actively holding themselves back from saying anything else. So, maybe they are paying some mind to changing the interactions between Shadowhunters and Downworlders.

Then, they notice Lightwood, and both their eyes go wide.

“You’re Alec Lightwood,” the other Shadowhunter says, holstering his pair of twin blades behind his back.

Lightwood looks both surprised and uncomfortable at the attention. “Um, yes?”

“You’re the one who was dating that _warlock_ ,” the Shadowhunter goes on, taking a particularly nasty tone at the last word. “The one who died.”

Lightwood now looks like he very much wants to murder this Shadowhunter, and Raphael relates to the feeling very much. The two Shadowhunters are still staring at Lightwood like he’s some spectacle.

“So, what?” Lightwood asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

He must look rather menacing, for the two Shadowhunters start exchanging uneasy looks and hesitantly step back. The one with the twin blades looks like he wants to say something else, something that perhaps will actually make Raphael or Lightwood punch him in the face, but his companion puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

The two of them then deem the conversation over, just like that, turning on their heels and walking away without another word. Raphael and Lightwood stare after them, then turn to share an annoyed look with each other. Suffice to say, they’re both in awful moods as they walk back to the house.

Lightwood only seems to get angrier as they walk, and he’s practically scowling and glaring at everything by the time they arrive home and he plops himself firmly down on the couch in the living room.

“I can’t believe that even _here_ ,” Lightwood grumbles, “people see fit to comment on my relationship with Magnus.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow at him, taking a seat at the other end of the couch, turning to prop his bare feet up on the cushion and lean his back against the armrest.

“The entire Downworld learned of your relationship within _days_ of it happening,” Raphael says. “It can’t be that surprising if the same goes for all the Shadowhunters. Like it or not, with Magnus’s position within the Downworld and your family name, a relationship between the two of you was always bound to spark a lot of conversation, quite a bit of it not good.”

Lightwood shrugs and continues to glower. “I suppose so. It’s not that I’m unaware of people’s feelings towards a Shadowhunter dating a Downworlder,” he says with a heavy sigh, resting his head against the back of the couch. “And as far as insults to our relationship, that was far from the worst. I remember one time when we were dancing together in Pandemonium, some random Seelie came up and literally _spit_ on us. Then, before Magnus or I could even do anything, a group of Downworlders came and actually threw the Seelie out the front door. Knowing Magnus, it’s not really surprising that he can inspire that level of loyalty.”

He pauses, frowns, then tacks on, “Could inspire. Whatever.”

Raphael blinks at that, still forcing himself to get accustomed to the shift of present to past tense when speaking about Magnus. It’s another one of those hateful things that he now apparently has to just accept, whether he likes it or not.

“Did Magnus ever tell you the story about how he started Pandemonium?” Raphael asks.

“Just that he opened it in the seventies,” Lightwood says. “Is there a story?”

Raphael thinks about it for all of five seconds. “I’ll be right back.”

He speeds upstairs to his room and goes to the wooden chest he had shipped over here from New York. The album he’s looking for is near the top, and he picks it up and lets it weigh in his hands for a moment before heading back downstairs and handing the album to Lightwood.

“Magnus bought the building in seventy-four, though he didn’t mention anything about it until a month before Pandemonium actually opened a year and a half later,” Raphael explains, going back to his seat as Lightwood flips the album open. “The only person he told about it at first was my mother, who watched him design the whole thing.”

The album is more of a scrapbook than anything. There are photos of the building in its early stages, some with his mother or Magnus or both standing in them. But there’s also pieces of fabric and tile samples, as well as other materials that Magnus chose between when deciding on the design of the nightclub. There’s multiple illustrations of possible floor plans spread throughout the pages, as well as handwritten notes commenting on the benefits and drawbacks of each proposed design. Some of the handwriting belongs to Magnus, some of the handwriting belongs to Raphael’s mother.

Raphael briefly explains all this, looking at the familiar pages as Lightwood slowly flips through the album. Everything is meticulously dated and labeled, and the empty building slowly develops into the Pandemonium of today as the pages go on.

“This is,” Lightwood says, staring intently at the pages, “ _very_ intricate.”

“Yeah,” Raphael agrees. He plants his hands on either side of him on the couch and curls his toes around the fabric of the rug. “Magnus developed a habit of carrying a camera everywhere around that time, so he really enjoyed documenting everything. And I think it might be because my brothers died or just the general awareness of mortality that people develop as they get older, but my mother suddenly became more and more interested in taking as many photographs as possible, preserving them in albums.”

Lightwood turns the page and they get to a photograph from the opening night of Pandemonium. Magnus stands at the center with a bright grin, Raphael, Ragnor, Tessa, and Catarina surrounding him. There are other photos from that night as well, with Magnus posing with various Downworlders.

“I get that, I think,” Lightwood says quietly, running a hand over a page. There’s a soft look in his eyes as he stares down at the page. “I remember, right after Max died, I couldn’t bear to look at any of our family photos. But after some time passed, I was so glad to _have_ those photos, to know I could look back on them whenever I wanted and relive those memories.”

“It’s that whole concept of keeping traditions and memories alive, long after a person is dead,” Raphael says.

And there must be something strange in his tone, for Lightwood shoots him a considering look. “Do you dislike that concept?”

Raphael shrugs. “It’s fine. I just don’t like the reminder that everyone’s dead.”

He reaches over and gently takes the album away from Lightwood, turning back through the pages. He finds the page he’s looking for and stares down at it silently. There’s the photograph of his mother on the patio, head tilted back and caught in a laugh. Next to it, there’s a photograph of Magnus in the center of the empty building, caught in the middle of a spin with his arms spread out on either side of him.

“But,” he goes on, staring down at his mother’s and Magnus’s smiling faces, “it’s not a bad thing, I suppose, to have this.”

\---

Once, late in the seventies, Raphael went to St. Petersburg for his second Accords meeting. The meeting itself was largely unremarkable, just another night of Downworlders and Shadowhunters talking _mostly_ civilly to each other.

After, he followed Magnus, Ragnor, Tessa, and Catarina down to the Neva. It was winter, so the surface of the river was frozen solid. Raphael found that astounding, as he’d never been anywhere that got _that_ cold.

The five of them walked out onto the ice, which steadily held their weight. At the center of the river, the four warlocks magicked up five paper lanterns. The lanterns were dome-shaped, a small tealight candle affixed at the center of the open base.

Magnus lit the candle of one and wordlessly handed it to Raphael. He then lit his own, the other three doing the same. The five of them held onto the lanterns for a while, and Raphael glanced curiously at the warlocks, wondering what they had planned.

“For those we lost,” Magnus eventually said, voice quiet but firm, white clouds puffing out as he spoke. “Both in the before and in the after.”

He started listing names, and when he was finished, he let go of the lantern, which floated upwards. The other warlocks repeated this action, listing names and then releasing their lanterns. Raphael wasn’t sure what he had to add to this. He didn’t know the time before or immediately surrounding the Accords like they did, and none of his encounters with Shadowhunters had ended in death, yet.

But they didn’t seem to be expecting that of him, simply willing to accept whatever he had to offer, even if that was just his company. The lantern was a bit like a hot air balloon with the flame from the candle dancing beneath it. When Raphael let it go, it floated slowly upwards, a glowing spot against the dark night sky.

“Is that something you do often?” Raphael asked once it was just him and Magnus back in New York.

“Every once in a while,” Magnus responded. “I think it’s good to do something to remember those who died, every now and then. We don’t always do sky lanterns, just whatever feels right at the moment.”

And that made Raphael think about all those centuries of hatred and war and running from Shadowhunters that he knew nothing about. But he also thought about Magnus talking about believing in peace and lanterns in the sky to memorialize the dead.

“They’re gone now,” Magnus said solemnly. “But we’re still here. And I think that it’s up to us who survive to keep the memories of those who died alive by trying to create a future where no one else will have to suffer as they did. That’s the point of the Accords. That’s the point of fighting for peace.”

And, listening to Magnus talk and thinking of everything they’d already shared, Raphael believed that if _anyone_ would be capable of bringing about peace, it would be Magnus.

\---

“Tell me about the Uprising,” Lightwood says one night.

They’re sitting in the outdoor seating area of a café that serves Shadowhunters and Downworlders as well as mundanes. There’s a cool summer breeze in the air, making the flames of the tiki torches flicker. Someone inside the café is singing a Hawaiian folksong, the strands of music floating all the way outside. They’re by the ocean, and Raphael can also hear the sound of waves crashing not too far away.

“Do you mean in general?” Raphael asks, sipping blood out of a mug. “Or is there something in particular?”

Lightwood frowns down at his slice of cake. “I don’t know. I just keep thinking about my parents being involved and not telling us. And I keep thinking about what my mother did to Magnus. She called me the other day you know? She made excuses about how she was too young to understand what she was doing and told me that she wants me to forgive her.”

Raphael scoffs at that. “Believe me, they _all_ knew what they were doing. All of them, your parents included, followed Morgenstern because they explicitly _chose_ to.”

“I’m aware of that,” Lightwood snaps. “I didn’t say I _believe_ her excuses or that I plan on _forgiving_ her. I’m perfectly fine hating her for the rest of my life.”

“After the Uprising,” Raphael says, “Magnus would keep telling me that we have to move on. I hate your mother for what she did to Magnus, but Magnus would say that the problem before the Accords was that everyone got stuck in loops of hatred. And that in order for things to get better, we have to move on.”

“Yeah?” Lightwood says, raising an eyebrow. “Moving on doesn’t seem like a very appealing option to me right now.”

“I know,” Raphael agrees with a nod. “I don’t think he’s wrong, but I definitely didn’t like the idea of moving on back then. I still don’t like it now, either.”

Lightwood looks at him, considering. “Do you remember that time when you came by the Institute to talk to my mother? I think I was eleven.”

“You told me you were twelve.”

“Oh. Right,” Lightwood says, blinking. “Now that you mention it, I remember telling everyone that I was basically twelve when I was still eleven.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “Where are you going with this?”

Lightwood sighs and leans back against his chair. “I remember that it seemed like you hated me, though I couldn’t understand why at the time.”

“I did,” Raphael admits, rubbing his fingers against the mug. “At least, I hated what you represented. Specifically, the fact that you were the reason your mother escaped punishment. But you know, even back then, Magnus defended you and the Clave’s decision to the rest of us. He talked about how you didn’t deserve to suffer for what your parents did.”

“That does sound like him,” Lightwood says, and his voice trembles a little. “He’s always been like that, hasn’t he? Just _good_. I’ve never known anyone like him.”

“My mother and Magnus were—still _are_ the greatest people I’ve ever known,” Raphael says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “They both gave and taught me _so much_ over the decades. It’s something I’ll never be able to repay.”

However, Raphael begins to think as he remembers talks of keeping traditions alive and sky lanterns over a river of ice, maybe he can _try_.

\---

Once, late in the year, three years after Raphael was turned, they invited Magnus to celebrate Dia de Muertos with them. While Raphael and Miguel helped their mother to set up a small altar in their living room, Tony and Joaq decorated sugar skulls.

“Back in Zacatecas,” Mama said somewhat wistfully, lighting the candles at the altar, “we would visit the cemetery together as a family and leave offerings. We can’t do that anymore, but we can still find ways to keep certain traditions alive.”

Raphael, Miguel, and the twins all nodded solemnly, remembering this time from before. Mario, on the other hand, had none of these memories and knew only how they’d been celebrating here for the past nine years.

“That sounds wonderful,” Magnus said seriously, handing Mama the arrangement of orange carnations she’d prepared earlier.

“Is it very different?” Mario asked from the couch, all childish curiosity. “How we’re celebrating here and how you celebrated back there?”

“Well, back there everyone in the country celebrated alongside us,” Mama answered, turning away from the altar to face Mario. “We all partook in the same traditions of decorating graves, praying, and telling stories of the dead. Now, it’s just us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still celebrate.”

There was a grainy photograph of Raphael’s grandparents on the altar, set beside a watch that belonged to his grandfather and a necklace that belonged to his grandmother. He had no memories of them, even though there are photos of him sitting with them when he was a toddler. They had died around the time Miguel was born, around the time that their father turned terrible.

The altar done, Mama waved them all over to sit beside it, handing each of them a stick of incense. Tony and Joaq placed their sugar skulls on the altar and Magnus lit the incense with a small tap of his finger, the scent of the burning incense slowly spreading through the room.

Mama then started telling them about her parents, the same stories she told them every year around this time. Raphael was old enough to know these stories by heart, but he was still just as interested in them as Mario was.

They sat there, the seven of them, listening attentively as Mama’s warm voice filling the room. It was a precious moment, sharing all these stories and history with Mario, who still knew little about their homeland, but also with Magnus, who had shared with them pieces of his own history earlier that year.

The scent of the orange carnations and of the incense, the warmth that filled their living room even in winter and the warmth of them all being there, together.

If Raphael had to identify a moment, a year, as the moment their family truly went from six to seven, that would be it.

\---

Raphael turns eighty-two, and Miguel and Mario come to visit him in Hawaii to spend the day together. They take drinks and folding chairs out onto the beach and sit with their bare feet in the warm sand.

“This place is pretty nice,” Miguel says, looking back at the house then towards the ocean. “And you two seemed to have settled in very well without, you know, murdering each other.”

Raphael gives him a very unimpressed look. “Yes, because that is definitely something that was likely to happen.”

“Who knows?” Miguel says with a shrug. “You really seemed to hate him at the beginning.”

“Well,” Raphael huffs. “We’re older now, and more mature.”

Mario laughs at this. “All that aside, how are things here?”

“Things are fine,” Raphael answers simply, and leaves it at that. “How are things in Los Angeles?”

“The same, more or less,” Mario says. “Nothing ever really changes where we live.”

“That’s good,” Raphael says, because change means wars starting and people dying, and he’s had enough of all that to last him a lifetime.

“It is,” Mario agrees solemnly, and Raphael wonders if his brother is thinking the same thing.

For a while, they sit in silence, the waves crashing gently against the shore. Mario seems to be thinking seriously about something, hands wrapped tightly around a glass of pineapple juice. 

“You know, I have this dream some times,” Mario eventually says. “The three of us are there, and Tony and Joaq as well, but we’re all kids again. Mama and Magnus are there, too. And sometimes we’re living in Harlem and sometimes we’re living in Los Angeles, but we’re always together.”

Raphael thinks of his own dreams of being in the loft, one he hasn’t had since he left Brooklyn. He asks Mario, “What happens in this dream?”

“Not a lot,” Mario replies. “We just go about our lives. Well, magic doesn’t exist in the dream, so the five of us just go to school like normal and Mama and Magnus just go to work.”

“You have very uneventful dreams,” Miguel comments.

Mario sits up straight and fixes him with a look. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s uneventful, but that means there isn’t some crazy war that we can’t even understand and people don’t get killed by demons. It’s uneventful, but we’re _happy_.”

“I think it’s a good dream,” Raphael says as he imagines them all having that life.

“So, are Mama and Magnus married in this dream?” Miguel asks with raised eyebrows.

“Actually, no,” Mario answers, which is somewhat surprising given how he viewed that particular subject as a child. “We all just share a life together. Who knows, maybe Magnus ends up meeting Alec in this dream world and _they_ get married, so we end up with one mother and two fathers.”

Raphael chokes on air, which he thinks is the appropriate reaction. Miguel, on the other hand, just bursts out laughing, slapping at his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“More like,” Miguel breathes out through bursts of laughter, “one mother, and then one asshole who barely warrants any acknowledgment, one _actual_ father, and one step-father.”

“That sounds _horrifying_ ,” Raphael comments flatly, though he's fighting back a smile.

This sends Mario into hysterics, and Raphael is suddenly surrounded by two brothers who can’t stop laughing. They keep this up for a couple minutes until Raphael hears the door to the patio and Alec Lightwood himself wanders outside.

Miguel and Mario pause in their laughter for a moment, staring first at Lightwood then turning to share a look with each other. And then they go right back to laughing, much more jubilant than before.

Lightwood looks appropriately confused by all of this. “Did I miss something?” he asks.

This only makes Miguel and Mario laugh harder, which only serves to make Lightwood even more confused.

Raphael looks at his ridiculous brothers with fondness, then looks at Lightwood’s confused expression with amusement.

And, for the first time since Magnus’s death, Raphael laughs.

\---

 _ **Light**_

One year after moving to Hawaii, Raphael is walking through the downtown area of Waikiki when he finds a warlock boy hiding in an alley.

The boy is hiding beside a dumpster, and he looks like he can’t be older than six or seven. His knees drawn close to his chest and skinny arms wrapped tightly around himself. His tanned skin is covered in bruises and scrapes, and when he looks up at Raphael, his face is streaked with tears and his silver eyes are filled with fear.

“Hello,” Raphael greets softly, crouching down slowly in front of the boy, trying his best to look nonthreatening. The boy still flinches, pressing himself even closer to the dirty wall.

“What are you?” the boy asks, voice trembling. “You’re not a mundane.”

“No,” Raphael agrees, wondering how much the boy knows of the Downworld. “I’m a vampire.”

The boy blinks at him with wide eyes. “Oh.”

“What are you doing here?” Raphael asks.

“Hiding,” the boy whispers. “The people with glowing swords and tattoos were chasing me. I think they want to kill me.”

Shadowhunters. Of course. Who else would go around hunting Downworlder children?

“How long have you been here?” Raphael asks, because he’s been walking around this area for a while, and he hasn’t seen any Shadowhunters. Perhaps they have some sense of decency after all, and decided to let the boy go.

The boy shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, voice getting even softer. Then, he takes a deep breath and blurts out, “I don’t even know what happened. I accidentally made my room explode and my eyes turned a strange color and my mom screamed and ran away and I haven’t seen her since. And then the people with the glowing swords showed up and said that what I did broke some sort of law and then they started chasing me, so I ran away.”

From that, Raphael can more or less figure out what happened. He’s heard from Magnus about how uncontrollable a young warlock’s magic can be when they first discover it. And he knows how ruthlessly unforgiving Shadowhunters can be about that.

“I think they’re gone,” Raphael says. “I haven’t seen any Shadowhunters around.”

The boy just stares at him, still scared.

Raphael tries, “I’m Raphael. What’s your name?”

“Cahya,” the boy says.

And Raphael suddenly remembers that story Magnus once told, and sitting on that large rock on the beach three summers ago. There’s a small part of him that wants to laugh hysterically, because what are the actual chances of this?

“Alright,” Raphael mutters, nodding to himself. He gives Cahya a small smile and comes to a decision.

\---

Raphael takes Cahya back to the house, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but is probably something he should’ve thought out better.

They walk into the living room, Cahya clinging tight to Raphael, hands balled into fists around Raphael’s shirt. Alec is sitting on the couch watching television when they enter, and Cahya makes a terrified noise when he sees him, looking at Alec like he thinks the Shadowhunter is going to kill him.

Which, considering why he was hiding in the alley in the first place, is something Raphael should’ve foreseen.

Alec looks between Raphael and Cahya in confusion, standing from the couch and turning off the television.

“Don’t worry,” Raphael says to Cahya. “Alec is a friend, he isn’t going to hurt you. Right, Alec?”

Alec gives him a bit of a ‘what the fuck is going on?’ look, but then turns to Cahya with a kind smile. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises.

Cahya doesn’t look wholly convinced by this, but he doesn’t scream again, nor does he try to run away.

“Good,” Raphael says, thinking through what to do next.

Cahya is still covered in blood and dirt, and his clothes are all ripped, so Raphael decides to start there. He leads Cahya to the bathroom upstairs, shows him how to operate the shower, then goes out to wait in the hallway while the boy gets cleaned up.

Alec approaches him there, eyebrows raised, his question clear. Raphael sags against the wall and briefly tells Alec about finding Cahya and what the young warlock told him. Alec listens to all this silently, his expression growing hard.

“I’m going to go over to their Institute and give them a piece of my mind,” Alec declares angrily. “We’re supposed to be finding _peace_. Everything we went through was to make it possible for Downworlders and Shadowhunters to get along. They’re just dragging us all back.

“Don’t go to the Institute,” Raphael says, crossing his arms. “You’re just going to make things worse.”

Alec glares. “Why not?”

“ _Because_ ,” Raphael stresses. “Right now, they’ve probably already given up looking for Cahya since they can’t find him. If you go there to give them a piece of your mind, no matter how much they deserve that, you’ll also be letting them know where he is.”

Alec gives him a long look, but then lets out a sigh, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I guess it’s just going to take a lot longer for everyone else to change their ways,” Raphael muses. “Lily tells me that Downworlder and Shadowhunter relations in New York are better than ever.”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “Izzy says that the Cabinet meetings nowadays go a lot smoother than when we were there, even with the Seelies involved. So, I guess it’s just something that takes time.”

“Or, Lily and your sister are just better at the whole thing than we are.”

Alec laughs. “You’re probably right,” he says. Then, he shifts around to face the bathroom door and asks, much more seriously, “Do you have a plan? Or are we just winging this?”

Raphael shrugs. It’s something he’s been trying to figure out since the moment he decided to bring Cahya back here. It seemed simple at the time. Bring the kid home, get him cleaned up and treat his injuries. But he hasn’t really thought about what to do after that, and he can’t really come up with anything, no matter how hard he thinks.

Magnus would know what to do, that much Raphael is sure of. But Magnus has been dead for nearly three years.

“We’ll figure it out as we go along,” Raphael says. “For now, I think we just need to make sure that he’s safe.”

He shares a long look with Alec, who nods back at him in agreement.

\---

Back in the early days, when Raphael still hated Magnus, a young warlock girl named Louisa came to the loft once with her mother. Raphael mostly ignored them, but only mostly. What he did observe from this interaction was enough to make him scowl and hide away in his room until the two left.

Later, he approached Magnus by the chairs next to the windows.

“That woman is terrified of her daughter,” Raphael commented flatly, putting a hand on his mother’s cross, which still burned him at the time.

Magnus sighed, shutting his book and setting it down on the table. “I know. But she’s still trying.”

“So, what?” Raphael snapped. “What’s trying worth when she’s scared of her daughter for being a warlock? It’s all going to end terribly for that little girl.”

“You don’t know that,” Magnus said firmly. “Yes, it could end terribly, but it doesn’t have to. The fact that Kendra is even willing to try, despite being scared, is worth something. It’s worth a lot. It’s more than what most Downworlders get from their parents.”

Raphael scowled at this, thinking of his mother. At that time, he still felt so sure that she’d turn away from him in disgust if she found out what he was. It was an incredibly unpleasant thought, but it plagued his every waking hour.

“You think she can _actually_ get over her fear?” Raphael asked, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know,” Magnus answered, sighing again. “All I can do is offer both of them my support and hope for the best. I can’t control what Kendra feels. But she’s trying, and that means that there exists a possibility for a happy future for the two of them.”

“Right. _Trying_ ,” Raphael repeated in a particularly nasty tone.

Magnus fixed him with a very serious look, gold eyes glowing bright.

“Sometimes,” Magnus said, “just having someone who is willing to try can make all the difference in the world.”

It wasn’t something Raphael could fully comprehend, at the time. But now, all these years later, he thinks that he’s beginning to understand.

\---

For the first week, Cahya refuses to leave the house. He mostly stays in the room Raphael and Alec set up for him, occasionally wandering downstairs. Neither Raphael nor Alec know what they’re supposed to do, but they bring Cahya food and buy him new clothes, hoping that they’ll eventually figure something out.

After a week, when Cahya is a bit more settled, they decide to take him to see the High Warlock of Honolulu. Cahya is still terrified of everything outside the house—and honestly, most things in it—but he goes willingly, clinging tightly to Raphael’s hand as they walk. It reminds Raphael vaguely of holding his brothers’ hands as they walked through the streets of New York back when they first arrived. This familiarity helps to relax him a little.

The High Warlock actually only lives a few blocks away from them, something they weren’t even aware of until a few days ago. Raphael and Alec had called her ahead of time, so she greets them with a smile and welcomes them in readily when they arrive.

“Hello,” she says to them as they sit down in her living room, turning to Cahya with a friendly smile. “My name is Noelani.”

Her skin is a pale lilac color and her dark brown eyes are warm. She has her long black hair tied back in a braid, and there’s a hibiscus tucked behind her ear. Cahya stares at her with wide silver eyes, realizing that she’s a warlock like him.

“Hello,” Cahya echoes quietly, and then ducks halfway behind Raphael.

“You mentioned that there were Shadowhunters chasing after him?” Noelani asks, turning her attention back to Raphael and Alec.

Raphael nods. “Yes, though we haven’t seen or heard anything from them.”

“Good,” Noelani says firmly. “You let me know if that changes. Now, what can I do for you?”

“We were hoping that you could be Cahya’s teacher,” Alec says politely. “As far as magic goes, at least. Or, if you’re unable, maybe you could point us to someone who can?”

“I would love to be Cahya’s teacher,” Noelani tells them genuinely. “As High Warlock, it’s my duty and honor to care for all the warlocks in my city.”

Magnus would like her, Raphael thinks. She seems to share his sense of what a High Warlock should be and has that easy kindness and care for others, even absolute strangers. Raphael is very much relieved by this.

Then, Cahya speaks up, his small voice suddenly seeming very loud in the large living room.

“Are you getting rid of me, too?” Cahya asks, looking between Raphael and Alec.

“What? No, definitely not!” Alec protests, flabbergasted. He looks horrified by the very thought. “That’s not what’s happening. It’s just that neither of us knows anything about magic, so we wanted to find someone who could teach you.”

 _Too_ , Raphael thinks, that one word echoing in his mind as Cahya at Alec, listening intently to him speak. Cahya’s mother left when she found out what he is, and as far as Raphael can tell, she probably isn’t coming back. And that’s just the way things go for many Downworlders.

Raphael knows he got lucky, all those decades ago. H knows that it’s an incredibly rare thing, to be able to stay with his mundane family and be loved by them just the same as before. One might even call it a miracle.

Everything Magnus gave him, everything Mama gave him, all that came together to grant him these decades of being undead but still very much alive, of being something that many think of as hateful, yet still being so _loved_.

“Cahya,” Raphael says, and the boy turns to him, looking like he might cry. “We’re not getting rid of you, I promise. You can stay with us for as long as you like. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cahya says, though he still looks wary.

But Raphael and Alec give him reassuring smiles, and Noelani smiles at all three of them with something like approval, and Raphael begins to believe that this will actually work.

\---

They take Cahya to see Noelani once a week. He’s still scared of everything around him, clinging close to Raphael and Alec whenever they leave the house. It’s a slow-going process, but they do seem to be getting somewhere.

At least, that’s what Raphael hopes.

In between their weekly visits to Noelani, Raphael and Alec start puzzling out how to go about teaching Cahya about other things that six-year-olds learn, both within the Downworld and the mundane world.

Alec casually suggests public school one night after Cahya has gone to bed, which Raphael shoots down almost immediately.

“How would we even get him enrolled?” Raphael asks, leaning against the armrest on the couch. “You can’t just walk him into a school and have him start attending classes. There’s paperwork needed, both for him and for us. And neither of us have the legal paperwork we would need in the mundane world to do any of that. Also, public school is terrible, from what I remember.”

Alec raises an eyebrow from the other end of the couch. “Didn’t you go to school in the forties?”

“That’s not the point,” Raphael says with a roll of his eyes, even though Alec _does_ have a point. “Besides, my brother’s grandkids think school is terrible, too, and they’re actually in public school right now.”

“What do you suggest, then? We homeschool him?”

“Why not?” Raphael says with a shrug.

Alec considers this. “Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Raphael grins at him, because how hard can it be?

It turns out, between a high school dropout who last went to school in the fifties and a Shadowhunter whose education came only from other Shadowhunters, neither of them actually knows how or even _what_ to teach Cahya.

Thankfully, Cahya doesn’t seem to mind this much, simply going along with whatever lessons Raphael and Alec attempt to teach him. Eventually, they ask Noelani, who briefly raises an eyebrow at them as if trying to puzzle them out, but ultimately makes no comment on that, instead handing them a stack of books for them to start out with and recommends seeking out a tutor once Cahya gets more settled in.

Raphael is grateful for the second part of this suggestion, since Cahya is still untrusting of pretty much everyone. He’s still wary around Raphael and Alec at times as well, and the only person he seems completely comfortable with turns out to be Noelani. Even so, he always goes home with Raphael and Alec, sometimes even letting them take turns carrying him on their shoulders.

If Raphael thinks about it, this is a pretty strange situation for him to be in. He’s basically helping to raise a warlock child with a Shadowhunter he used to hate. But Alec is actually not that bad, now that the two of them aren’t openly antagonizing each other or taking out their anger and grief on each other. Alec also seems to better at the whole emotional side of things, comforting Cahya after a nightmare and sitting with him when he’s upset.

They still don’t know much about Cahya’s life before his warlock mark came in, and Cahya does not seem eager to share. They don’t pry, though they do have a brief conversation with Noelani about the possibility of tracking down Cahya’s mother.

“I can keep an eye out for her,” Noelani tells them solemnly. “But when a mother walks away from her warlock child, she usually doesn’t come back.”

She sounds like she’s talking from personal experience and Magnus has told him similar things in the past. Some mundanes—most mundanes—just can’t accept the Downworld, even if their own child is involved.

That’s just the way of things, apparently.

“I think it’s awful,” Alec says late one night, the two of them sitting out on the patio. “She’s his _mother_ , she’s supposed to love him no matter what.”

“Yeah, well, parents don’t always do what they’re supposed to do,” Raphael comments, thinking of his father.

Alec scoffs, and says bitterly, “Believe me, I know.”

“How’s that going, by the way?” Raphael asks.

“They still can’t accept that I’m gay,” Alec says with a roll of his eyes, though there’s a hint of pain to it. “They want to pretend that my relationship with Magnus never happened. They can’t get over the fact that I left New York. And my mother still thinks I should forgive her for what she did. So, in a word, _bad_.”

“Ah, I see.”

Alec shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Cahya deserves better than her anyway. At least with all my parents’ shittiness, I know exactly what _not_ to do.”

Raphael nods at this. “You know, Magnus told us this story once, the summer before Miguel left for college. It was about a boy named Cahya and a girl named Angakasa who fell in love and went on to travel the world together.”

“Seriously?” Alec asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Seriously,” Raphael confirms. “Believe me, I was very surprised.”

“So, what was the point of the story?”

“Well, at the time, he just told us that they fell in love and lived happily ever after,” Raphael answers, shifting in his chair. “But he later told me that the story was actually about his parents, and he just made up a happy ending for the two of them.”

Alec seems surprised by this. He’s quiet for a while, facing forward to the crashing waves. “He told me about his parents. Not that happy story, but just the terrible things that happened when his mark appeared. I _hate_ how often stuff like that happens.”

“Yeah,” Raphael agrees. “But it’s not always the case. Simon says that things with his mother and sister are going really well. And my mother just had no problem with it at all, from the very beginning.”

“Do you think there’s a secret to it?” Alec asks.

Raphael hums, considering. It’s something he’s thought about a lot himself. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” he says eventually. “Then, if someone could just figure out what it is, no Downworlder would ever have to be rejected by their family again. But if there is some secret to it, I don’t know it. Maybe my mother did. Maybe Magnus did. Or maybe there’s no secret at all, and that’s just the way some people are. But if someone who is supposed to care for you is cruel to you instead, maybe you’re just better off without them in your life.”

“Family isn’t just about blood,” Alec says with a nod.

“No, it isn’t,” Raphael agrees.

He thinks of everything his father failed to be, and everything Magnus was. They were supposed to have so much more than this. But this is just what he has left, in the end. He has his eighty-odd years of life, sixty-odd years with Magnus.

It’ll never be enough, but Raphael is determined to make it count for something, to make it something he can smile back on with fondness rather than with regret and grief. He thinks, maybe, that that’s what Magnus would want him to be able to do.

\---

Three years after Magnus’s death, Raphael stands in the ocean with the water up to his shins. He’s put the sunflower ring on the same golden chain as his mother’s cross and he wears that chain around his neck. He has on the leather jacket Magnus got for him all those years ago, and even though the spots around the elbow have been worn thin and the zipper sometimes gets stuck, it’s still his favorite jacket.

Raphael holds a sky lantern in his hands. He flicks the button of the lighter, staring at the small flickering orange flame that emerges. It’s nighttime, and with the lights from the house behind him and the moonless sky, the flame is pretty much the only light.

When he lights the candle at the bottom of the lantern, the fabric of it inflates up and out like a balloon. Raphael holds the lantern in his hands for a long while, staring at its brightness.

“Hey,” Raphael says aloud, his voice quiet under the sound of the waves. He feels a bit silly, but he goes on with it anyway. “It’s been a long time since we spoke. Both in real life and in a dream, ha.”

He hasn’t had that loft dream since he left the loft, which he supposes makes sense in a way. And as much as the dreams just kept reminding him that Magnus is dead, he misses them just a little, because now all he can do is talk to empty air that will never talk back.

But this is more or less the same as talking to his mother’s gravestone or texting Ragnor during that year when he thought he was dead.

“So, Cahya’s been doing better lately,” Raphael says, watching the flame of the candle flicker. “He still gets scared and has nightmares, but Alec’s really good with him. He doesn’t trust us fully, but I completely get that. I wouldn’t trust us either, if I were in his position. It’s only been a few months and this is one of those things that takes time, I guess. If you were here, you’d say something like that, right? Give myself time, give him time.”

The water crashes against his skin, lukewarm rather than cold like he was expecting. “Miguel and Mario are doing well, too,” he goes on, fighting to keep a tremble out of his voice. “They’re happily retired and still in Los Angeles. I go to visit them, sometimes. And the kids and grandkids are great as well. They’re all growing up so quickly. We all still miss you, a lot.

“And Lily tells me that everything in New York is going great. She’s managed to strike up a friendship with the young Shadowhunters and Catarina has been doing a great job as High Warlock. They’re going around to other major cities and trying to implement a Downworld Cabinet is those places as well. You know, we might actually be able to get _peace_. I just wish you were here to see it.”

His hands shake a little around the lantern, and he tightens his grip, forcing them to be still. “Alec and I are still here in Hawaii. I guess that much was obvious,” he mutters. “We’re friends now, I suppose, which is a little strange. You’d probably find this hilarious, right? But we’re here and we’re trying. With each other, with Cahya, with ourselves. You mentioned in your letter that you hoped you’d given me something good, and I want you to know that you did. I…you gave me _so much_ , over the years, and I’m so grateful to you for that. I want you to know that.

“I miss you,” Raphael says as a tear escapes down his cheeks. “I love you so much and I wish you were here, but I guess things don’t work like that. I want you to know that you will always be important to me. And I want you to know that I love everything we shared together over the past six decades. You were like a father to me, all these years, and I’ll always think of you as a vital part of my family. I wish I could’ve said all this to you when you were still alive.”

More tears fall, streaking his face with blood. For once, he doesn’t mind it, trying to speak over the lump in his throat, the pain in his chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you like this sooner. I was just too angry and everything hurt too much. Everything _still_ hurts, sometimes. A lot of the time. But I’m working on it, okay?

“Thank you, Magnus. For saving me and not giving up on me and for being my family and for loving me. Thank you for sixty years of life. I’ll carry you with me, always.”

He finishes speaking, holds onto the lantern for a few more seconds, then lets it go.

It floats up, slowly rising through the air, a glowing spot against the dark night sky. Raphael watches as it gets smaller and smaller into the distance, and he doesn’t look away until it disappears completely.

\---

Back in the early days, after Raphael started trusting Magnus but before he made his decision to tell his mother the truth, he once accidentally broke Magnus’s wrist. Raphael will always remember the whole ideal as being awful, no matter how many times Magnus waved it off and told him it was fine.

They were sparring on the roof of the building, a way of working on Raphael’s control over his newly acquired enhanced strength. Raphael would aim blows at Magnus, trying to keep his strength at a normal level. They’d been at it for a while, and Magnus had already suggested taking a break more than once. Raphael had refused every single time.

He was angry, more so than usual. It was just one of those terrible, awful days. Then again, every day was like that, then, but this was far worse than normal. There was something dark and ugly twisting inside him, growing larger and stronger by the second. It was painful and built of memories and nightmares. He wanted to let it all out, have the darkness consume everything around him, leaving him empty but free from pain.

If he didn’t let it out, it would rot him from inside out until he could barely be considered alive even if he still breathed. But if he did let it out, it would ruin everything around him and he’d become just like his father, and he’d rather die _again_ than let that happen.

He lost himself to the rhythm of the exercise. The dark and ugly thing was still in him and it’d started growing again. Maybe he was making it worse through the violence of his actions. Maybe it would’ve grown worse anyway.

Raphael found it hard to care about the why; he just wanted it gone. But the violence came too easily, another way he was too much like his father. The thought soured inside him, fueling the anger.

Anger flooded him again and that making its way into his movements, strengthening them and making them quicker. Magnus didn’t waver, kept parrying his blows while not returning any of his own. He had yet to break a sweat and his expression was carefully neutral.

He was still going _easy_ , and he still looked _worried_ , like he _cared_ , and for the life of him, Raphael couldn’t understand _why_.

He remembered Magnus mentioning something once about how warlocks needed free movement of their hands in order to do magic. If you restricted the movement of the hands, then you significantly restricted how much a warlock could do against you.

Raphael reached for Magnus’s hands, thinking that if he could pin the warlock’s wrists together, then he could end this in his favor rather than have Magnus call for a break again. But anger rippled through his movements, and he still didn’t have full control of his speed, and Magnus was somewhat distracted.

It happened in a matter of seconds. He rushed forward, watched as Magnus’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, and grabbed hold of Magnus’s right wrist. But he failed to get the left, and he twisted around to try to grab it, and for a moment forgot about his control, instead letting himself use his full strength in the movement.

Then there was a familiar snapping sound and Magnus let out a sharp hiss. Raphael immediately let go and stared at Magnus in alarm.

Magnus cradled his wrist in his other hand, lips pinched together so tightly that the skin around them was nearly white. His wrist had swollen up, bent at an angle that indicated it was broken.

Raphael swore colorfully in Spanish, panic mounting in his chest. Magnus gave him a look of mock-reprimand, though he otherwise remained silent.

Raphael knew from experience how painful a broken wrist was, though Magnus was bearing it silently in a way that had taken Raphael years to achieve.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Raphael blurted out. “That wasn’t what I was trying to do, sorry, it was an accident.” He was rambling, and he knew it, but that didn’t stop the words from flooding out. Magnus looked concerned about _him_ , now, and that made Raphael feel worse.

Raphael was caught somewhere between this moment and remembering the rage that would ignite his father’s expression whenever he dared to fight back.

The beatings were always worse those times, even worse if he’d somehow managed to hurt his father.

It wasn’t that he thought Magnus would hit him, at least he hoped he wouldn’t, but the memories were stronger than his thoughts. They always were. And he saw fists and blood and darkness.

“Hey,” Magnus gently interrupted his thoughts. “It’s fine. Nothing a little magic can’t fix.”

Raphael watched numbly as Magnus drew a circle around his wrist and blue magic shimmered in the air, slowly encircling his wrist. The swelling faded gradually, and the broken bone righted itself. Magnus winced a little as all this happened.

“Sorry,” Raphael said again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Magnus told him gently. “It’s all fine.”

Magnus smiled easily, and Raphael went back to staring.

His father would’ve been furious by now. His father would’ve—

 _That really doesn’t bear thinking about_ , Raphael reminded himself.

Magnus was still smiling, and it was something that filled Raphael with a strange warmth, made his chest tight and made him feel like he wanted to cry but also simultaneously run away. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this kindness, he knew, yet Magnus was giving it to him anyway.

But that’s just the way Magnus was, he would come to learn. Magnus’s kindness and goodness had already saved Raphael more than once by that point, and would continue to save him in the many decades to come, all the way until that very, very last moment.

\---

Cahya starts to grow comfortable around the house and around Raphael and Alec. Raphael is very aware of when this shift occurs, because it’s also when Cahya starts lashing out at them.

It starts small, with him ignoring Raphael and Alec at times, giving them strange looks before disappearing upstairs to his room without a word. They’d been doing a bit better recently, so the new shift leaves both Raphael and Alec at a bit of a loss as to what they should do.

“I think he’s used to people treating him poorly,” Raphael says to Alec one afternoon as they sit in the living room after Cahya locked himself in his room. “And I think maybe he expects us to do the same.”

“But we _won’t_ ,” Alec protests, visibly upset. It’s only been a few months, but he already seems to care so much about the young warlock.

“I know that and you know that,” Raphael says. “But he doesn’t. I think he’s lashing out as a way of figuring out how we’ll react. He wants to see how far he can push us before we get angry with him.”

Alec sighs, sagging against the couch. “I get that. I just hate that he feels the need to do that in the first place.”

“I know,” Raphael says. “But I think the fact that he’s lashing out at us rather than just being terrified of everything counts as progress.”

That’s the mindset he keeps for the next week before everything hits the turning point. It starts with Raphael and Alec suggesting to Cahya that they decorate his room. Cahya just stares at them for a very long moment, skinny arms wrapped around himself and silver eyes unblinking.

“Why?” Cahya asks, voice quiet but oddly firm.

Raphael and Alec share a look, a bit thrown off by the question.

“We thought it might be something fun for us to do,” Alec says to Cahya with a warm smile. 

But this answer only seems to upset Cahya even more. “Why are you being _nice_?” Cahya asks, voice suddenly rising in volume. “You should be yelling at me or throwing me out by now. Why haven’t you done that yet?”

Both Raphael and Alec are surprised by this outburst. But before they can formulate a response, Cahya scowls and throws a hand out, creating a portal in the center of the kitchen.

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for you two to get rid of me,” Cahya snaps and dashes into the portal.

The portal closes before Raphael and Alec can even move, and suddenly it’s just the two of them standing there, gaping at the spot Cahya disappeared from.

Alec swears viciously under his breath, panic lighting up his expression.

“He couldn’t have gone far,” Raphael says, already moving towards the door, fighting back panic of his own. “Warlocks can only portal to places they’ve been before. Let’s split up and look for him.”

He and Alec share a worried look, then take off into the city.

\---

It takes Raphael about twenty minutes to track Cahya down to the alleyway where they met. He’s crouched beside the dumpster again, and it’s clear that he’s crying. When Raphael approaches, his head snaps up, staring at him with fear.

Raphael sits down on the ground across from Cahya. “So,” he begins gently when Cahya doesn’t say anything to him. “Alec and I probably could’ve handled that better.”

“What are you doing here?” Cahya asks, still crying silently and wiping away his tears.

“Looking for you,” Raphael answers simply. “It’s going to be dark soon, so we should probably start heading home soon.”

Cahya stares at him, silver eyes gleaming in the dark of the alley. “ _Why_? Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you just forget about me like my mom did?”

Raphael pinches his lips together, carefully considering his response. “You know,” he says softly, leaning back a little, “when I was turned, I felt angry and scared all the time. Everything was awful for me, back then. But there was a warlock who found me and helped me. I was still angry and hurting, and I ended up taking a lot of that out on him. I was pretty awful to him for those first few months, but he remained kind to me throughout all that. He saved my life.

“So, that’s why,” Raphael says, looking straight at Cahya who’s just staring at him. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone and scared and fearing that everyone will hurt you somehow. And when I was alone and scared, someone helped me and stayed by my side despite everything.”

“What happened to him?” Cahya asks curiously. “The warlock who saved you.”

It’s not an unexpected question, exactly, but Raphael still freezes up for a moment nonetheless.

“He…He died,” Raphael manages to say, the word sounding awful in his mouth, but he still manages to get it out. “About three years ago. I miss him a lot, and I’m still trying to figure out how to do things without him.”

Cahya is silent to this, though he’s less tense now than when Raphael found him. He still seems hesitant to move, though, still scared that Raphael might hurt him.

Raphael slowly gets to his feet, noting how Cahya meticulously tracks this movement. The two of them stare at each other in silence for a long, long moment and Raphael suddenly knows exactly what to say.

“I can help you, Cahya,” Raphael says, extending his hand out. “But only if you let me.”

They’re Magnus’s words, spoken to Raphael all those decades ago when Magnus rescued him from the werewolves. And Raphael remembers staring at Magnus, scared and angry but still wanting to be saved. So much time has passed and so much has changed since then, and Raphael suddenly feels very, very old.

Raphael feels the past and the present all come together in this one moment, as he echoes the words that Magnus once gave to him. He remembers those six decades all at once, all the anger and joy, all the fear and warmth. He thinks of all the _good_ Magnus gave him and how all that has shaped and changed him throughout all this time.

He wants to give something back, he thinks. Magnus gave him so much, and Raphael will never be able to repay him. But maybe he can pass on the good that Magnus gave him. Maybe he can take everything that Magnus taught him and share that with someone else.

This is what he thinks of as he holds his hand out to Cahya, voice steady and warm.

Cahya stares at his hand for a long, long time. Raphael is patient, not saying anything more but not retracting his hand either.

And eventually, slowly, Cahya reaches out and takes Raphael’s hand.

Raphael smiles at him gently and carefully pulls Cahya to his feet.

Raphael says, “Let’s go home.”

\---

_**Endings** _

Of course, not everything is just completely and perfectly fine, after that. There are still a lot of bad days, for all of them.

There are days when Cahya gets angry and scared and lashes out and cries. There are days when Alec has a hard time getting out of bed and spends the whole day locked in his room. There are days when Raphael just feels awful and wants everything to hurt and wants to yell and curse and cry.

But there are happy days as well. Lots of them.

There are days when Raphael and Alec realize how quickly Cahya is learning and growing and are filled with an odd sense of pride. There are days when the three of them go out to explore the island together. There are days when the three of them sit curled up on the couch watching movies. There are days when Cahya starts to trust them with more and more of his past, sharing stories with them and letting them comfort him.

There's a time when Raphael and Alec take Cahya to meet everyone, stopping first in Los Angeles. Raphael’s brothers seem very amused by the whole situation but dote on Cahya, who takes to them rather quickly. And then in New York, the same thing happens with Alec’s siblings.

Raphael introduces Cahya to Lily, Elliott, and Simon as well. The vampires adore Cahya, and while Raphael is there, he gets a chance to see just how wonderful a leader Lily is. The clan is prospering with her, and she really does seem to enjoy being the leader.

Raphael and Alec take Cahya to London, too. And Ragnor seems to find the whole situation hilarious, but still spends hours with Cahya, telling him stories and helping him with his magic. Tessa and Jem are there, too, with children of their own now, and Cahya gets along great with them.

And there are days when Raphael and Alec sit with Cahya on the beach behind the house in Hawaii, and they tell him about Magnus. Alec talks about that month they spent together in Europe and Raphael slowly makes his way through showing both of them all the photo albums.

They tell stories together and cry together and laugh together.

And everything is _good_.

\---

One day, a little over a decade and a half from now, Raphael will sit on the porch of the house in Los Angeles. Alec and Cahya will be inside, chatting with Miguel and Mario.

Raphael will be sitting on the porch, and he will be holding the letter his mother left for him to open on his one-hundredth birthday. He will read the letter, see the last words his mother left for him, and he will find himself smiling through his tears.

He will sit on the porch for a long time, watching the sun start to go down over the ocean. Tears will fall down his face, streaking his cheeks with blood, but he won’t care. He will have Magnus’s letter with him as well, and he’ll read through both of them numerous times. He will feel the weight and warmth of his mother’s words, of Magnus’s words, and he will remember that he is _loved_.

Later, Cahya will join him outside. Cahya will be all grown up, no longer that skinny and terrified child, but rather a tall and smiling adult. Cahya will sit beside Raphael, glancing down briefly at the letters and then up at Raphael.

Cahya will reach out with his hands, placing one on either side of Raphael’s face. His magic will emerge in silvery swirls, brushing gently and warmly against Raphael’s face, washing away the blood-tears.

Cahya will smile at Raphael, and Raphael will smile back.

Eventually, Miguel, Mario, and Alec will come outside as well. The five of them will sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the porch, facing the ocean. They will tell stories and laugh, talking about anything and everything.

They will talk about everything they’ve shared for the past two decades, but also everything that came before that.

They will talk about Mama and Magnus and how it is thanks to the two of them that the five of them all came to be here, existing and laughing in this one moment.

They will stay there talking and laughing long after the sun disappears beyond the horizon and they will stay _together_.

And, from up on above, Mama and Magnus will be watching them all together. They will see all this unfold, as they’ve seen everything that’s happened before, and they will smile, with pride and joy and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Magnus and Raphael relationship that I feature in this fic is something I started thinking of back when I first read CoHF when it first came out. Of everything that happened in that book, somehow that was the thing that stuck out to me the most. It was something I continued to think about on and off over the years, as I read the Bane Chronicles and eventually watched the show.
> 
> While I've had these storylines playing out in various ways in my head for years, I've never actually written any of them down, not until this one. And by this one, I mean Magnus dying and Raphael having to find a way to deal with that. I don't know why, but of all the storylines (most with an 'everyone good lives' narrative) this is the one I felt compelled to write down.
> 
> I was in no small part inspired by the song and music video for 'Shelter', which is where I derived all chapter and work titles for the fic (go check it out!). In particular, I was inspired by the line: "I'll give them shelter like you've done for me." I can't say why, exactly, but I was drawn in by this concept of a person taking everything they were given by someone they loved dearly, and trying to pass all of that on to someone else. It's something I tried to capture with this fic. 
> 
> Maybe I could've done that better than I did. I've been mostly writing this fic as a way to relieve stress as I study for my upcoming LSAT (which is at the end of the month. Yikes.) so the quality isn't exactly the best. Maybe I'll rewrite this at some point in the future. Maybe I'll just leave it as is. I would say that overall, I am happy with this fic, and I hope that you are as well.
> 
> I do plan on writing a 3-part Magnus POV at some point, which will start with his relationship with Camille and end with his death, but that might not be for a while. Maybe I'll do it for NaNoWriMo, once my exam is over and my applications are in. If you're interested, consider subscribing to the series for notifications.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who read, commented, and/or left kudos! All of your support means a lot to me and it made me so happy that people actually like reading my story, especially with these super long chapters. Sorry for this rambling note, I'll sign off now.
> 
> See you next level! (10 points to the House of your choice if you get the reference. lol)


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